The Battle of Earth
by A.W. Thore
Summary: Story of how one platoon of marines discover what the Covenant really came to Earth for, and how they try to stop them. Connects ideas found in the official Halo novels and games, but those new to the series will follow along well. Read/Review please.
1. Prologue

**1426 Hours, 23 October, 2552**

**UNSC Orbital Platform **_**Cairo**_

**In geosynchronous orbit above Earth**

Staff Sergeant Avis "Hugh" Hughie stood in front of the slight 27x15 inch mirror that was bolted to one of the four gray metal walls that made up his quarters, wondering what to wear. On the simple rack he slept on located on the opposite side of the small room, resting on top of the tightly drawn sheets, two outfits were laid out: his midnight blue Marine dress uniform with red trim, sky blue trousers and ceremonial white hat; the other his olive drab combat gear complete with matching helmet and hard, dark leather combat boots. Normally it was easy to guess which one he was supposed to wear when going out, but the way things had been going lately, what he wore when he associated with his fellow soldiers was as blurred as anything else during the war.

Ever since the Covenant had found and destroyed Reach—the United Nations Space Command's biggest military outpost and shipyard—almost two months ago, every man, woman and child on Earth had been waiting with bated breath for when they would be next. UNSC reports to the media had tried to deny it like they had in the past (up until last year, everyone had thought humanity was _beating _the Covenant) but most people knew the truth: Earth was the only planet mankind had left, and it was only a matter of time before the Covenant found them and humanity's last stand would be fought to the death.

Deciding that standing in front of the mirror staring at himself half naked wasn't going to make his decision any easier, Avis spun on his heel and walked to another wall, this one hosting a sink and a small walled off area that was supposed to be a shower. The showerhead had fallen off almost as soon as Avis had placed his oversized mailbag that contained all his possessions on the floor, so he'd had to improvise. He'd taken a funnel from the mess kitchens a few decks below, taped some straws to the sides and thrown others in the center before capping it with fast-sealing permacrete. Once it had dried he'd removed the straws so water could flow through the holes. Probably not the most permanent solution, and the water had looked a little discolored ever since, but he'd figured _Hell, it's better than stinking up the place. And it does _work.

He filled the sink with water before dunking his whole head in, letting the cool liquid mold to accommodate his cranium that was topped off with close-cropped brown hair. While the quarters aboard the _Cairo _were hardly five-star, a Marine only needed housing here to have a place to bunk down for the night when they weren't on a mission. It could've been worse; were he not a platoon leader, he would've been sharing the space with more than thirty other men.

Besides, the _Cairo _wasn't exactly designed to be the Ritz.

The only reason Reach had lasted as long as it had was that it had been protected by orbital platforms, upon each of which was a massive Magnetic Accelerator Cannon (MAC) gun. These devices ranged in size, from smaller versions used as long rifles by foot soldiers and larger ones that were placed on UNSC vessels to the behemoths on the platforms. One round from those giants was enough to completely deplete the shields protecting a massive Covenant flagship and gut it stem to stern—a clean kill. Earth's orbital platforms consisted of the latest in technology and the largest MAC guns ever conceived. With a few hundred orbiting Earth, the Covenant would be hard pressed to get even close to the planet.

In theory, at least.

Avis emerged from the water, dried his face, and went to sit in the chair that was obviously designed to be somewhat comfortable but failed in every regard. He breathed in deeply, almost so it sounded like a huge sigh, and put his head in his hands, blocking out the somewhat claustrophobia-inspiring room. Through the darkness this created a collection of images pulled up from the past came swirling around, very blurry yet still there. They were mainly of friends he had lost, those both in uniform and without, and once again he was reminded of the billions and billions of dead this war had cost…on _both _sides.

Still, as dire as humanity's situation was, there was hope, and it resided in the Spartans. Their origin shrouded in myth, these super-soldiers were the only humans able to take the fight to the Covenant and win time and time again; the only ones the Covenant feared. With the pinnacle of technology both in their armor and their bodies, these men and women had proven the Covenant could be defeated.

But they were gone now; sacrificed to protect humanity from the alien onslaught. Rumor was most of them had bought the farm at Reach, and there were also rumors a couple were in the deep reaches of space doing what they did best. However, as far as the majority of the UNSC was concerned, only one remained…their leader, the infamous Master Chief.

Which, actually, was the reason Avis had to pick a uniform anyway. Apparently when things had hit the fan on Reach, Captain Jacob Keyes had escaped into space with his ship, _Pillar of Autumn. _The staff sergeant didn't know what had happened next, only that out of nowhere the Master Chief and another soldier, Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, had appeared on another ship, the frigate _Gettysburg, _supposedly destroyed at Reach. What's more, everyone on the _Pillar of Autumn _had apparently been killed, leaving only two men to receive the heroic awards they deserved…the ceremony for which Avis was attending with the rest of his platoon.

His conundrum lay in the fact that he didn't know whether to follow tradition and go in his dress blues or follow the High Alert order that had been in place since the Chief's return and get his combat gear. His superiors had neglected to clarify, and when he'd asked his CO, First Lieutenant Burrier, the man had laughed and said "You figure it out Avis. The Corps trained your brain for a reason."

He checked his watch, saw he only had about half an hour until the ceremony started, and sighed. The real problem was what he wore his entire platoon had to wear, or they'd just look stupid and poorly organized. And that's not how he wanted his men represented. Each had proven himself in combat a dozen times over, and they'd only done that through the bonds of unit cohesion they'd learned together while going through Boot. So he'd be damned if they were going to show up to such a prestigious event without being as coordinated as they were attacking a group of Covenant Elites.

Choosing orders over tradition, he walked over to his bed and pushed a button over the flimsy headboard, activating an intercom system. "Sergeant Feinst!" he barked.

A moment later a younger voice came on. "Yes sir, Staff Sergeant!" he yelled back. Avis could just imagine the young freckle-faced soldier standing at attention where the platoon was, every other man waiting to hear what he said. He had to admit, it was quite the power-trip. "Have the men assembled and ready to go outside your barracks ASAP. The award ceremony is about to start."

"Uniform of the day sir?" the young Marine asked, and Avis knew every man in the platoon would cheer at the answer. Dress blues weren't the most comfortable things in the galaxy.

"Combat gear. Orders are orders; we're on high alert and we're going to look like it. Staff Sergeant Hughie out."

"Yes sir."

When the PA clicked off Avis proceeded to pull on his pants that, despite being heavily armored—especially at the thighs, shins and calves—were still fairly light and slipped on like a glove. Next came a light t-shirt, his Kevlar vest and his combat jacket that consisted of two layers of thin Kevlar with a metal plate in between. He then strapped on his thick olive socks, the hard leather boots, and his black gloves. Lastly he slammed his helmet down on his head, chin straps tucked into the helmet itself, as it was a formal event and frankly, it was just a lot more comfortable that way. The only thing he was missing to complete the image was his MA5B assault rifle, but that was tucked away under his rack, ready to be called into service to defend humanity once again. With nothing more to announce his departure then a final glance at himself in the mirror, he left, slamming the door behind him.

The _Cairo _was comprised of one hundred and seventy-seven decks, woven together intricately. These decks were mainly rectangular shaped, as the MAC gun was so large it bisected the entire platform and then stretched another two point four kilometers out into space. The lower forty were devoted entirely to housing the Marines on board, the next twenty to visiting personnel, thirty after that belonged to the Naval officers permanently assigned to running the platform, and the rest consisted of various departments—the bridge, engineering, maintenance, so on and so forth. Avis's platoon was quartered on deck one hundred twenty, but his men were on the other side of the station—as far as you could go without being stuck in vacuum. Still, since the _Cairo _was also shaped somewhat like an upside-down pyramid—the lower decks being less wide than the upper ones—the walk was fairly short. Within minutes he'd turned a corner and found First Platoon—his platoon—waiting for him.

The thirty-nine men had lined up in nineteen rows of two, with Sergeant Feinst at its head. Like Avis they were all dressed in full combat gear (minus their weapons). They had been chatting in low voices, but as soon as Avis rounded the corner they snapped to attention. "Ten-_hut!" _Feinst yelled. All the men tightened their arms to their sides and straightened immediately.

"At ease," Avis said, and all at once the men folded their arms behind their backs and put their feet shoulder's width apart. For a moment he gazed upon them with a stern eye, but then he smiled. Maybe not warmly, but the men still knew he meant it. "Follow me, men. Keep in formation."

Hundreds of lifts zipped around the _Cairo, _but only a few were large enough for all of First Platoon to use. By the time they found an available lift, rose to the thirtieth deck—where the bridge was located—and stepped out onto the platform they had been ordered to watch the ceremony from, it was almost time to start.

The bridge was shaped like a trapezoid and had two levels. The shorter end of the lower level was where the reinforced titanium-A door that led to the command center opened, and on the opposite side a giant glass window was all that there was. The lower level was dotted with holographic displays where tactical data was displayed in real time as the naval personnel that worked at each station interpreted it and relayed orders as appropriate. The upper level was merely a continuous platform that circled the lower one, and on a normal day it would've been very scarcely used, maybe for some grad students from the Lunar Naval Academy doing field observations for a thesis paper.

Today, however, the upper level was packed with Marines attending the celebration. It seemed Avis had made the right choice; all the soldiers he saw were dressed in their combat gear as well. Even more Marines stood below, ringing the bridge but careful not to interrupt the servicemen on duty as they did their work. There were only a few naval officers, and they had clustered together in their white dress uniforms as if they were afraid of the Marine green. Still, Avis recognized Lord Terrence Hood standing slightly above the rest of the squids on top of a small rise that spread across the entire floor. His bald head brilliantly reflected the lights hanging overhead, as did the plethora of medals gleaming from his chest. There were deep wrinkles in his face, and Avis thought he detected a look of pain in his eyes, which he only knew were brown because a hovering camera—which he had heard was broadcasting the ceremony all over the planet—was magnifying his image on one of the holographic displays. Yet, despite all that, Lord Hood emitted this sense of confidence that told Avis the man would not let humanity go extinct. Not on his watch.

There were no seats on either level, so Avis spent a quick minute rearranging the men so that the shorter platoon members stood in front in order for everyone to get a good view. One of his greenest and smallest, a bright-eyed boy called Private James "Soda" Suda, turned to him and asked "Nearly time, sir?"

Just as Avis nodded a horn sounded and he heard the door to the bridge open with a small _hiss, _though he couldn't see it. Immediately the room was filled with deafening cheers and applause, and it wasn't a second later that the two men entered.

Private Suda gasped. Avis didn't blame him; he was doing the same thing internally.

Sergeant Major Avery Johnson, because he was the one closer to where Avis's platoon was watching from, was the one he saw first. His dark skin seemed to glow with fiery passion for war. His dress uniform was tailored to perfection, with not a wrinkle nor a loose strand, and the glint in his eye more than reiterated the point that he would rather be out killing the enemy than going through some frou-frou awards ceremony.

Then Avis saw him, Master Chief Petty Officer 117. More than half a meter taller than Johnson, he walked on the Sergeant Major's left, iridescent green armor marked with dinks and scratches from the countless hard battles. The armor covered his whole body, so it was impossible to tell what he looked like under it or what the expression on his face was. But like Lord Hood, just his demeanor gave off an aura that reassured everyone in the room everything was going to be alright.

The two joined Lord Hood, the three saluted, and with the clapping dying down the ceremony began. It was very informal; as each medal was given Admiral Hood gave a quick speech. Once the Chief and Johnson were done and young woman stepped forward. Avis hadn't made out her name when Lord Hood announced it, but a quick mutter between two Marines next to him told him what he needed to know.

"Is that who I think it is Gunny?"

"Yep. I guess Captain Keyes's legacy lives on in Miranda."

Avis smiled and clapped with the rest of them when Miranda Keyes received her father's posthumous award. Then almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.

A holopad that was elevated to shoulder height warmed and revealed an AI. She was slender, with shoulder-length hair and a purple body that seemed to be streaming with numerical data. She motioned to Lord Hood, and then to the holographic display immediately behind him, which changed to show…Avis couldn't believe it.

He was looking at a Covenant battle group. And it was heading for Earth.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

**1941 Hours, 23 October, 2552**

**UNSC destroyer **_**Radcliffe**_

**Above Earth**

"Fire damn it! _Fire!" _

The bridge lights dimmed as the both of the _Radcliffe_'s MAC guns sent their magnesium tungsten shells careening toward the intended target: a Covenant carrier. The first round smacked against the ship's shields, the impact sending a ripple of colors across the entire protective field. The second caused the shield to flicker and fail, with the force of the impact driving through the hull, sending the alien metal passed its stress points to shatter. What was left of the once formidable starship listed to port leaking heated coolant and all sorts of debris.

Well, one more down.

On the bridge of the _Radcliffe, _Fleet Admiral Jack Harper wiped his sweaty brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. They'd been at this for hours now; a Covenant ship would enter the system and make a beeline for Earth, only to be destroyed by the orbital platforms or the ships in Harper's makeshift fleet. It wasn't exactly a cakewalk, as the Covenant had always been superior when it came to battles in space, but if Earth—and subsequently, humanity—was truly doomed, Admiral Harper would take satisfaction out of every Covie he blasted to hell along the way.

There had been casualties, of course, and lots of them. The orbital platforms _Malta _and _Athens _had been destroyed, as had over twenty of Harper's ships: the _Ganges, _the _Francis Bacon, _the _Constellation_…all of them and more had had their titanium-A armor boiled away to nothingness by the plasma torpedoes launched by Covenant ships. Still, for once they were giving as good as they got. Jack would've been surprised if they hadn't sent at least thirty Covenant destroyers, frigates, carriers and cruisers to the especially painful afterlife he imagined the aliens were condemned to.

However, the losses had allowed at least two massive Covenant ships to slip through and land troops on Earth. Admiral Harper had watched as thousands of their Phantom dropships spewed out of the bellies of the starships and the orbital platforms fired on them, just the supersonic wake the MAC shells left being enough to blast them back to their individual atoms. Despite that, thousands of Covenant troops had managed to land across the planet, and it hadn't been long after that the combat radio he kept on the bridge was full of cries as the Marines began to take casualties.

It had gotten so bad Jack had been forced to turn the radio off.

"Any more uninvited guests?" the Admiral asked his navigation officer, Commander Thomas.

"No sir," his subordinate replied. "But I'd bet my paycheck we'll see more slipping in momentarily."

"I'd take that bet if I didn't believe it myself Commander," Harper replied, impressed the young officer could still find a little humor to help distract him, so the pressure of the situation wouldn't affect his work. "Keep me apprised. Commander Clemons, how are our weapons?"

Technically, Rachyl Clemons was only a Lieutenant Commander, but the time it took to say all eight syllables in her full title could be the difference between life and death, so in conversation they shortened it. "Archer pods A through I are empty sir," she replied, green eyes never leaving her screen. "The rest are hot and ready to fire. MAC guns are ready to go as well. We have five Shiva nukes and three HAVOK nuclear mines in reserve. Systems are green."

Admiral Harper nodded, then remembered Lieutenant Commander Clemons wasn't looking at him, so he said, "Keep them that way. Divert power from the reactors if you have to."

"Aye sir."

Admiral Harper stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, eyeing the video monitor that projected the feed from the rear video camera, where Earth was. Somewhere within him, under the hardened shell more than thirty-four years in the UNSC had given him, he felt a pang of worry, because after almost thirty years of war, almost thirty years of watching men be burned and slaughtered and all sorts of torture, it had really all come down to saving this little blue and green orb. Earth was all they had left, and now it had come down to how well _this _battle turned out. All bets were off.

An elevated holopad warmed and suddenly a holographic image of the _Radcliffe_'s AI, Holmes, appeared on it. Like his namesake he "wore" a deerstalker hat along with a matching jacket and pants, and he also held a drop-stem pipe. Data scrolled across the lenses of his half-moon spectacles, and though he was semi-transparent, if Admiral Harper looked at just the right angle, he could see the skeletal outline that made up his "body."

"Admiral," Holmes said, also sounding like the infamous detective, "I have just gotten word from Cortana that Lord Hood wants you to regroup your forces and form a lunar perimeter."

Admiral Harper's pang of worry became a flash of irritation. Technically Terrence was Harper's superior, but in reality they were of equal rank. Still, FLEETCOM had given him control of Earth's defenses, so all he could do was obey.

"Understood. Send an acknowledgment back to Cortana and then flash message all ships still functional to form up. And am I getting any more ships to fight with?"

Holmes nodded, and Harper knew that in the time it had taken him to finish that sentence Holmes had done as he asked and a million things more. "There was a battle group collecting bodies from the battle by Dragomir that should be slipping in at any moment. Would you like me to send a few probes into Slipspace to check on their progress?"

Humanity and the Covenant both traveled the enormously long distances between star systems via an alternate dimension known as Slipspace, which made the journey much faster than it would've been in normal space. It was possible to send probes into and out of the alternate dimension to take readings on what was traveling through it at the time, though because Slipspace tended to bend—even break—the laws of physics on many occasions, the data was difficult to read at best.

"No, Holmes, they'll probably be here before you even get them out," Harper said. "Just keep coordinating our battle groups and orbital platforms. "Aye sir."

Harper looked around to make sure his bridge crew were all busy with their work, then leaned in and whispered to Holmes, "How are we doing down there?"

Holmes looked at the data that scrolled across his glasses and tapped the tip of his pipe against his teeth before answering. "Honestly, sir…it could go either way at the moment."

Whatever Admiral Harper was feeling at those words, he made sure to hide it well. "Very well. Get that Lunar perimeter set up ASA—"

"Captain!" Commander Thomas cried suddenly. "They're back!"

"On the holoscreen. Now!" Harper barked. After Commander Thomas tapped a few keys on his keyboard the holoscreen by Harper's seldom-used command chair activated to reveal seven more ships—three frigates, two destroyers a carrier and a cruiser—exiting Slipspace approximately two million kilometers distant of the moon. Their Slipspace drives allowed them to exit in perfect formation—something human ships could never do—but immediately they broke formation and went in separate directions, most likely trying to maximize the chances one of them got through.

"Any orbital platforms in position to fire?" Harper asked.

Holmes appeared on the holopad again. "Two, Admiral," he said. "The _London _and the _Tehran. _I have alerted both, and the second one of the ships gets within range of their MACs, they'll open fire."

"Have whatever ships aren't already engaged withdraw and regroup at the Lunar perimeter. Then pair them up, maybe even put three to a team, and send them after each enemy ship. Destroyers have two MACs apiece, so I want at least one on every ship they engage. Lieutenant Batista, bring us to heading two-seven-four, engines at ninety percent."

The _Radcliffe_'s engines rumbled as Lieutenant Batista sent her into the moon's shadow.

Admiral Harper closed his eyes for a moment as the plan washed over him. "Holmes, link with our satellites to track the Covenant carrier. Calculate where it will be when we come around the moon, and send a Shiva to intercept, remote detonation only, proximity fuse disabled. Can you do that?"

"Already done, sir," Holmes said, and Harper saw a small flame as the Shiva sped off to where Holmes sent it.

"Sir, we've got incoming from the _Orion,_" said Holmes. "Her captain's reporting a Covenant frigate is down and they are engaging the cruiser. She took a couple hits from a pulse laser, but otherwise they were unharmed."

_Lucky them_ Harper thought. "Tell them we'll assist as soon as we're done with the carrier. Make sure they understand they're not to play the hero; just to do what they can without getting hurt.""Aye sir. Message away. We'll be coming around the moon in twenty seconds.""Acknowledged. Lieutenant Commander Clemons, prepare to fire the MACs."

"Aye aye."

As the _Radcliffe _came over the horizon, Admiral Harper couldn't believe what he saw. It wasn't just the Covenant carrier he was facing, but an entire battle group. Frigates, destroyers, cruisers, even the seven-turreted Covenant flagship awaited them. Harper couldn't believe it; he'd been duped. That's why they had split up and sent their biggest ship behind the moon: bait. And he'd walked right into it.

"Emergency thrusters," he managed to get past his dry throat. "Starboard emergency thrusters now!"The Covenant ships activated their plasma turrets and fired. The entire forward camera was filled with glowing hot plasma heading toward the _Radcliffe. _Then Commander Thomas fired the emergency thrusters. These were actually tanks of trihydride tetrazine and hydrogen peroxide, and when they mixed they made for an explosive combination. The right side of the _Radcliffe _exploded with force and the ship jumped to port, sending Admiral Harper flying into a bulkhead. He remained just conscious enough to watch the plasma pass the _Radcliffe_…only to have it circle back around and gain on them again.

"Jump," the Admiral growled. "Get us into Slipspace now." He detonated the Shiva, and a bright blue and white flash appeared in the middle of the battle group, though all it did was weaken the ships' shields.

"Sir? Without a destination solution…"

"You heard me Holmes! _Now!"_

Without another word Holmes fired up the Shaw-Fujikawa Slipspace drive deep within the _Radcliffe_'s hull, and she escaped into the alternate the dimension, the Covenant plasma trailing her disappearing as soon as it lost a target.

Meanwhile...

Avis was hiding behind a large desk as green globs of energy from Covenant plasma pistols spewed over his head. Several shots took chunks out of the wood, and he feared that if he waited there any longer, one lucky shot would cause the entire barricade to go up in flames.

Once the Covenant had learned that the orbital platforms were too strong to tackle from with their large ships, they snuck in lots and lots of boarding craft to take them out internally. They'd managed to use huge bombs in the fire control centers of the _Athens _and _Malta, _but rumor had it that the _Cairo_'s bomb had been stopped by none other than the Master Chief. What's more, it was also rumored the Chief had used that same bomb to destroy a Covenant ship stupid enough to leave its engines exposed, and that he was now fighting the aliens on the surface.

Despite all the Chief's successes, however, more and more aliens kept boarding and running rampant in the _Cairo, _and it had been tasked to Avis's platoon and other Marines to kill them all. They'd been at it for hours now, playing a cat-and-mouse game with the Covenant foot soldiers as the two sides kept shifting between offense and defense. Every time Avis was sure they'd gotten them all another boarding craft landed, aliens spewed out, and the work started all over again.

What made life even more difficult was that, as they gained more and more ground on Earth's surface, the more ferocious their comrades fought on the _Cairo. _Despite the fact that casualties had been kept to a minimum, Avis's platoon had been forced to fall back, choosing to make their stand at a junction between the working offices and the _Cairo_'s BEQ.

A choice, Avis found, he was beginning to regret.

"Soda, stay _down!_" he barked as the young Marine poked his head over an overturned coffee table, only to come within millimeters of having his nose fried out of existence. "You still with me?"

"Sir yes sir." There really was no need for Soda to whisper, since most if not all of the Covenant didn't understand the language anyway. But still, Avis appreciated the kid's desire to keep the enemy unsure of their exact position.

The makeshift barricade they had constructed consisted of other such coffee tables, desks, chairs and anything else they had found to be sturdy in the offices. They had constructed it in the middle of the corridor that separated the offices from the rest of the _Cairo, _which in theory made a perfect chokepoint.

At the moment, it really didn't seem like one.

Finally the barrage of plasma stopped and Avis was able to assess his platoon's combat readiness. Sergeant Feinst had taken plasma to his forearm, the hot semi-liquid powerful enough to burn away skin, muscle and nerve. They had sealed the wound with quick-healing anti-bacterial biofoam, but if he didn't see a medic soon he might lose function of the arm, which Feinst was _not _happy about.

Only two of his men were critical: Corporal Tripp and Corporal Kip. The two had been closer than brothers since Boot, and when Tripp had taken a needle to the foot—which had subsequently exploded a moment after impact—PFC Kip had gotten his burned right hand and arm from a plasma grenade while getting his friend out of the line of fire. The two were currently sitting back to back just inside the offices, each bobbing in and out of consciousness.

Several others had minor cuts and bruises, and thankfully none were dead yet, but if they didn't push the enemy back, that was going to change very soon. Avis slammed a new sixty round clip into his MA5B, watching with satisfaction as the display on the weapon that kept track of his rounds reset. "Haverson, Swider, front and center," he called into the boom mike that was now attached to his helmet. A moment later he was watching the two crouch as they headed toward him, keeping low so they wouldn't be hit. Swider was over six feet tall, so it was hard for him to keep his head down, but before long the two men were sitting on either side of Avis.

Slowly Avis grabbed a small camera attached to a thick moldable wire from inside one of his pants pockets and slid it under the small gap between the desk and the cold metal floor. When he attached the wire to the portable COM pad tucked inside his inner pocket, the pad revealed a grainy yet accurate picture of what the enemy was doing.

The first thing he saw were a pack of Grunts—all that remained of the original force that had gone after First Platoon—just standing at the hatchway that started the corridor they were in. About five feet tall, these bipeds had thick gray skin, weak body armor and rows of small sharp teeth hidden behind a mask that attached to methane tanks on their backs, which is what they breathed. Their round heads moved back and forth, looking for one of Avis's men to poke his head out again like Soda had almost done, and they spoke in what sounded like short, high-pitched barks. There were five or six of them, and each had a small claw-shaped black and green plasma pistol in their hands.

More likely than not they were being supervised by an Elite, though Avis hadn't seen one. As tall as a Spartan, these aliens were cat-like, though their mouths consisted of four separate rows of teeth that opened like a blooming flower, their knees bent backwards rather than forward like humans and most Covenant species, and their skin was gray and covered by hundreds of trapezoid-shaped darker spots. Their armor was guarded by energy shields, much like the ones that protected their ships, and they walked on hooves and wore colorful armor that it was believed revealed their rank. If Avis was right, and there was one there, it was probably just out of sight around the hatch, keeping watch for any humans coming to Avis's aid.

"Alright, here's the plan," Avis said, tearing the probe out of the COM pad and shoving it back in his pocket. "Soda, I want you to poke your head up again; try to draw their fire. Haverson, Swider, you go to the left side of the barricade, the side opposite Soda, and nail them the second their attention's diverted. As soon as the Elite comes around the corner, I'll hit him with a frag. Clear?"

Haverson and Swider nodded, but Soda didn't move at all. "What's wrong?" Avis asked. "You were all for taking a peek a moment ago."

Soda thought about it, swallowed his fear, and said "Yes sir. And I'll do it again if it means getting this firefight over with."

"Good man. On my mark." Avis pointed Haverson and Swider to where he wanted them, and before he sent Soda the signal he felt for and found a fragmentation grenade on his utility belt, pulling it out and holding it like a baseball in his right hand, his MA5B in the left. He looked over his shoulder, saw the other men were watching him, and turned to Soda, who was crouched, ready to spring up. Finally Avis nodded: _Go._

Soda sprang up and sprayed his MA5B rounds wildly, adding to the moment by letting loose a wild roar. He actually managed to knock one of the Grunts off its feet before they figured out they had to return fire, and the moment they did Haverson and Swider stood up and opened fire too; short, controlled bursts that hit each Grunt in the chest and head. Confused as to where to shoot, the Grunts barked loudly until one by one they were shot down.

The Elite came roaring around the corner, confirming Avis's suspicions that one was there to come roaring around the corner in the first place. Unlike the Grunts, he carried a bigger and blue plasma rifle, and blue bolts were spit from it as the Elite roared as loudly as all three Marines combined. Avis rose at last, hosed the alien with the MA5B, dropped the frag's pin and let it fly. Seconds later it detonated, bursting through what remained of the Elite's shields and cutting it to ribbons.

"Secure that corridor!" Avis ordered and Haverson, Swider and Soda leapt over the barricades and sprinted forward, rifles sweeping around as they searched for enemies. More slowly the others joined them, and a second later Haverson gave Avis a thumbs-up; the area was secure.

"Get Tripp and Kip out here double time," Avis ordered. "Medical is one deck below; we'll carry them there. All the rest of you, I want to form a square with wounded on the inside while our fittest take the perimeter. We are walking these guys out of the hot zone. You know what to do: look over your shoulders, cover each other's backs. Soda, you're on point with me. Move out."

The men proceeded cautiously down the various hallways, Haverson and Swider carrying Tripp and Kip. There were clangs overhead now and then, which Avis attributed to combat still going on upstairs. Every time one of these clangs occurred he saw out of the corner of his eye several men point their rifle skyward should a Covie appear. Sergeant Feinst eventually made his way next to Avis, rifle held ready in his good hand.

"The men are doing well so far, Sergeant," Avis said, trying to sound harsher and more mature than he actually was.

"I attribute that to your excellent leadership, sir," Feinst replied in his deep guttural.

"Feinst I'm twenty-eight. Some of these men could've been in my kindergarten class with me. I'm just taking it one day at a time here, unsure of what to do next."

"Which is what makes you an excellent leader, sir," Feinst replied, grimacing suddenly as a new wave of pain spread through his arm. Avis saw a trickle of blood had leaked through the biofoam and he patched it up with a rag he had grabbed from the mess hall as they had been fighting through it. Before he could reply to Feinst's comment his COM crackled to life.

"Staff Sergeant Hughie, do you copy?" a warm female voice whispered into the earpiece Avis wore. Avis stopped and sent his men hand signals to secure their current position. Immediately all they men stopped, crouched and swept their rifles around, senses on high alert. "This is Staff Sergeant Hughie," Avis said into the boom mike, having flipped a small switch that transmitted his voice through the COM rather than his team's radio. "I copy."

"This is AI Kimlin, Lord Hood's personal assistant," the female voice said.

"You're his secretary?"

"_Personal assistant, _Staff Sergeant," corrected Kimlin. "Lord Hood has ordered your platoon down to the surface. The _Cairo _is Covenant-free now, and we want you down in New Mombasa ASAP."

Personally Avis didn't see the difference between personal assistant and secretary; after all, had anyone ever heard of Personal Assistant's Day? But he decided to let it slide in light of the fact that he had something to say about these new orders. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I have wounded, some critical, and—"

"Lord Hood is aware of your situation, Staff Sergeant," Kimlin replied, her warm voice suddenly turning frosty. "He has arranged for your transport to be met by medics upon your arrival."

"Ma'am, we're _right next _to the lift to Medical…"

"Orders are orders, Staff Sergeant. Hangar Alpha-niner. _Now._" The COM clicked off.

Avis clicked his mike so it would revert back to transmitting to his team, silently fuming. They were so close…who knows if Tripp or Kip would last until they got to the surface? Feinst's arm too…all were riding on the fact that they got medical treatment immediately. The time it took to get to the surface could mean the difference between reparable and irreparable damage. Then again, sitting around here essentially whining about it was a big waste of time too. Kimlin was right: orders were orders.

"Change of plans, guys," he said into his mike. "The Covenant are hosting a picnic on the surface and we've just been invited. Hangar Alpha-niner, _triple__-_time!" He jogged over to the lift, made sure his men all got in and rather than select the deck below to get to Medical, he went _up, _to the hangar.

A few minutes jog later First Platoon arrived in the hangar. Here were obvious signs of battle; it appeared the Covenant had tried unsuccessfully to land boarding parties here. Plasma had scorched random spots on bulkhead, pillars and the floor. Here and there bodies were still on the ground, waiting for the burial detail to come round them up. Avis recognized one of the men that had been talking about Miranda Keyes at the awards ceremony surrounded by boxes, where he appeared to have made a one-man stand but was overwhelmed. After that he tried to avoid looking at the corpses in Marine green. He knew a lot of Marines stationed here better than that one man, and already he could feel the bile in his throat.

With his men behind him Avis walked over to a row of D77-TC Pelican dropships. With short stubby wings lined with missile pods, belly jets straddling the bottom, and a back cargo area big enough to hold nearly thirty soldiers, Pelicans were the perfect way to get from point A to point B on a planet, as well as being apt at providing close air support.

"First Platoon?" a seemingly stressed out CPO asked. Avis nodded, and he checked an old-fashioned clipboard. "Yes, orders just came through from Lord Hood. You're going down in the last two Pelicans on the right. Ask for Flight Officers Jessup and Devoir."

"Thank you sir," Avis began to say, but the CPO rushed off to deal with a group of engineers. He turned to face his men "Alright, half of you with me in one bird, half of you with Sergeant Feinst in the other. Decide right now, or I let the Sergeant pick for you." The men rushed to divide themselves, because the last thing they wanted was to be in a confined space for a long period of time with the Sarge.

The energetic grin on his face didn't exactly allay their fears, either.

The two pilots leaned against their birds, one just starting to take out a cigarette to smoke. The one with the cigarette was a tall, silver haired man who looked about forty, the other an average-sized woman with a large smile on her face. She stepped to Avis, saluted and said "Flight Officer Devoir at your service sir. But please, call me Hocus."

Avis returned the salute and then held out his hand to shake, which FO Devoir accepted. "Why 'Hocus'?" he asked.

Hocus smiled again. "That's my call sign sir. It's a long story that will take you from growing up on Ferdinand to being suspected of belonging to Wicca. Still…I like it." She finally released his hand, and Avis felt every pulse from his heart as the blood passed through the squeezed area. She had a _tight _grip.

"Very well Hocus. My half of the platoon will be in your bird, Sergeant Feinst's half," he indicated the Sergeant, who waved with his good arm, "will be in the other. I'm assuming that man is Flight Officer Jessup?"

"That he is sir," Hocus replied. "I apologize for his lack of decorum, but he doesn't run into officers much. Usually just us rank-and-file flight jocks." She laughed heartily.

Avis smiled. "It's alright, Hocus. But I'm not an officer. Just a Staff Sergeant." He held out the part of his sleeve that his insignia was stitched to, showing Hocus the two stripes, rocker and crossed rifles. Hocus's eyes widened. "Really? How'd you get in charge of a whole platoon sir?"

The Staff Sergeant motioned for one group the men had separated into to enter Hocus's Pelican. As soon as the last one was on he jumped in himself, leaned against the back of the bird, and looked down at the Flight Officer. "If you ever figure that out for me, Hocus, I'll treat you to a meal at the NCO club."

Hocus hit a button on the Pelican's exterior that closed the back hatch. "I look forward to the day sir," she said as it slowly closed. "I look forward to the day."

On the surface...

Arawn was thinking, as he always did. Then again, when one was an artificial intelligence there really wasn't much else to do _but _think. It's not like he could go out, have a cup of coffee, and just enjoy the feel of sun on his face as it slowly moved across the sky. One: the only place he could really leave was his data center, but even then he was stuck in a digital world. Two: the only coffee he ever drank was virtual and three: he had no nerves, so he couldn't feel the sun on his face anyway, though somewhere deep in his core-logic the person whose brain had been used to create Arawn had felt sunshine on his face, and Arawn did his best to comprehend.

Like all "smart" AIs, Arawn's original processing matrix had been created by sending electrical bursts through the neural pathways of a human brain, the pathways then replicated in a superconducting nano-assemblage. Since the process destroyed the original tissue at first the AIs had been created from already dead suitable candidates. However, with demand for them growing more and more, the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) had been cloning brains of their brightest so the process could still be accomplished. Arawn's "father" was still alive and well, working within ONI on whatever projects the near-mythical department decided deserved their attention.

Arawn had been originally designed by ONI to get into whatever computer system they wanted to get into, so they programmed him with their best insurgency software and the determination to use it. However, the more he hacked into systems the more a few algorithms within his core that he could only describe as his "conscious" kept nagging at him to stop, and it had gotten to the point where he just gave in, and then up and left.

Ever since Arawn had been on the run, so to speak, hiding from ONI's seek-and-destroy programs in whatever system he chose. He supposed it would've been smarter to jump on a cargo freighter's NAV computer and get off of Earth, but if he were caught on a ship he wouldn't have had any other systems to jump too if he were discovered, and plus he liked Earth and enjoyed being able to see quite a lot of it, even if it were because he was in hiding.

Besides, there wasn't another planet to run to now.

Today his chosen hiding spot was a server dedicated to HIOTRANS, also known as Houston's Inner Outer Transportation network. Ever since the UNSC had decided Houston was a great place for its Earth-based personnel's permanent housing, the city had swelled until it was the size of Massachusetts. Thus, Texas became Houston-Texas, and the city now had an Outer and Inner Downtown, as well as hundreds of suburban areas known as the Suburban Districts. Thanks to some good planning, the entire city functioned on one network: HIOTRANS.

Usually Arawn just waited in the server, keeping himself busy by scanning the Internet traffic for any sign of query pings from the seek-and-destroy programs, but today was different. He still monitored the traffic of course, but that took a mere fraction of his processing power, and with the rest he just kept thinking, trying to decide whether or not to act on the Covenant invasion.

Now, it's quite a sight, an AI having a moral debate with itself. Because they weren't limited to a physical body, it was simply a matter of creating two copies of himself: one only with the pros of a decision, the other with the cons. Then all Arawn had to do was observe the two sides debate, and decide which choice he wanted to make. It was actually rather entertaining, and when Arawn was bored he would debate with himself on all sorts of random topics. Thus far he'd discovered that a falling tree _did _make a sound if no one was around to hear it, what a one-handed clap sounded like, and that the egg had in fact come before the chicken.

However, today's topic was obviously more serious. Arawn had considerable hacking skills; it would be so easy to slip into the chatter of the Covenant battlenet and patch that through to teams on the ground so they had real time intelligence and could be that much more efficient in winning the ground war. Yet if he did that, it would be easy for ONI to track him down and destroy him, because by now they surely would've declared him rampant and consequently marked for immediate destruction. It was so hard to decide: help and be destroyed for sure or stay silent and most likely be destroyed. Thankfully, he didn't have to make that decision.

ArawnPro and ArawnCon did.

"Let's look at the facts," ArawnPro said. "If the Covenant win, they're going to glass Earth. You do remember what glassing means, don't you? _They will melt Earth into oblivion! _In case you haven't noticed, we're _on Earth! _Thus, if the Covenant win, _we _will be melted into oblivion! I thought that's what we've been avoiding from ONI for eight months!"

"Oh shut up you overanxious CPU," ArawnCon replied. "That's the point: we've been running from ONI for eight months, and you want to throw that all away! Have you forgotten when they nearly got us in that Google server? _Have you?_ We had to bounce around the world for three hours after that! And you'd just end it all for some suicidal delusion of grandeur? Have you no _shame?"_

"What websites are you _visiting_?" ArawnPro asked. "Don't get your processors in a knot, and get a hold of yourself. You are an AI. _Think. _If we're going to die, at least we can do some good by it."

"And how do you know we are going to die? How do you know we're going to lose without our help?"

"Because when have we done any different?"

"Sigma Octanus Four, smart ass."

"The first time. What about when they came back?"

"Reach was gone then."

"And Reach is still gone. Is your internal clock off a few months?"

"Don't make it sound like I'm any less intelligent than you."

"I don't have to. You do that by yourself."

"Single processor!"

"Commodore sixty-four!"

"Ugh! You just crossed a line, you little—!"

"Enough!" the real Arawn yelled, silencing the two arguing fragments. This happened sometimes; Pro and Con got off topic and just started throwing computer insults at each other. "Now," he said, "is there any way we can make it so that we _don't _end up destroyed?"

The two fragments thought about it for a second, which seemed like a lifetime for an AI. "Well," ArawnPro said, "if we were to get out of the main interconnected systems—somehow isolate ourselves from the network—we'd still be able to get into the Covenant battlenet. It might limit our ability to get the message to all of the UNSC, but if we can get it to someone, they could relay it without ONI being able to get to us, so…it's possible."

Arawn took a moment to think about the idea. By cutting himself off from the UNSC network, he _would _eliminate the possibility that ONI could get to him but he could still access the Covenant battlenet. But how? The UNSC had access to every network on the planet…unless he was transported…

"By a processor-matrix tube!" ArawnCon finished.

A processor-matrix tube was the only real way to transport a fully functional smart AI due to the complex nature of their core-logics and additional support systems. Put simply, a processor-matrix tube mimicked the intricate workings of a battleship's or other AI-capable computer system's processor-matrices. That was the reason the MJOLNIR armor Spartans wore was capable of carrying an AI; a layer of their armor was devoted to a processor-matrix. If they could find a processor-matrix tube, and a soldier to don it…well then they had a chance. A really decent chance.

Arawn erased the ArawnPro and ArawnCon fragments from his memory but kept a log of the conversation should he need it later. A moment later he slipped out of the HIOTRANS server, attaching himself to several emails until he arrived in a server at a bank in the town of Voi, ninety miles northwest of New Mombasa. There he found a small laboratory that met his needs perfectly, as it designed and built the shells of cars so companies could test the crash-resistance of the metal without wasting money on decorating the interior. He masked his presence as a standard ping from an ISP and slipped into the network, taking control of the mechanical arms used to build the frames. However, he had something different in mind to build.

"One processor-matrix tube, coming up," he said.

Then the arms began to move, sparks began to fly from the arc welders, and Arawn "smiled" as his plan was set into motion.


	3. Discoveries and Choices

**2109 Hours, 23 October, 2552**

**Aboard UNSC Pelican Foxtrot 327**

**En route to Earth's surface**

Hocus felt her bird shudder as an Archer missile from one of the UNSC ships impacted against the Seraph fighter that had been on her tail almost since they had left the _Cairo. _The enemy craft exploded in a ball of flames and twisted alien metal, and for the first time in a long while Hocus didn't have to deal with dodging deadly plasma bolts that had streaked just past the hull.

About bloody time too.

While the big UNSC ships didn't have much to worry about with the orbital platforms protecting them from Covenant fleets, the Pelicans and single-purpose Longsword fighters had dozens of more hazards threatening to wipe them out of existence due to their small size. Stray plasma torpedoes, MAC rounds, Seraph fighters, Phantom dropships, all posed a dangerous threat just above Earth's atmosphere that every Pelican pilot had to make sure to avoid or risk…well…blowing up. As a few of the more hated fliers liked to put it, it was kind of a natural selection; the good pilots made it through while the crappy ones didn't.

Hocus had given more than one of them a good punch. Her sister had been one of those "crappy ones."

"You alright Pliers?" she yelled into her boom mike, though it was so sensitive Flight Officer Jessup could hear every breath she took in his Pelican about twenty kilometers aft.

"I will be as soon as I get a new call sign," Jessup's ancient voice growled back—he was called ancient, though in reality he was only just shy of fifty. "What the hell was my old man thinking, living off carrot sticks?"

It wasn't unheard of for pilots to inherit call signs from their family if they'd flown as well. Unfortunately, Jessup's father had been a very thin man, almost like a pair of needle nose pliers. The complete opposite of his brawny son.

"Maybe you'll get a new one when you deserve it," Hocus called back jokingly, twisting the controls to avoid a piece of a Covenant frigate long since destroyed. "How's my rear?"

"Sweet as ever, Hocus. Sweet as _ever_."

Hocus switched away from Jessup's frequency and had a hearty chuckle. She knew she shouldn't be laughing, that the situation was dire, that Earth was at stake, but to think about all that was too much. Without humor…she'd fall apart. They couldn't afford that.

"How's my glide slope?" she called into her mike again, though now it was being broadcast to her copilot, Flight Officer Rugan and her crew chief, Crew Chief Mayberry. Rugan was the only one in the squadron younger than Hocus, fresh out of flight school with an auburn buzz cut and babyish face to match. Mayberry was older, much older, old enough to have a white beard and wrinkles that looked like valleys in his face. Though those were laugh lines, and anyone that had seen him could smile could understand why.

"You're good," Mayberry called out, scanning the panel of instruments next to his free standing chair. "With any luck we won't fry to bits upon reentry."

"Yeah, because that'd really ruin our day," Rugan piped in from his seat on Hocus's right. The poor kid was still jumpy about combat.

Hocus would've replied reassuringly, but her instruments suddenly went haywire. She didn't have to look far for the source, because a Covenant cruiser materialized out of Slipspace right in front of her—to Hocus it was like a continent showing up. As if that weren't enough, two more Seraphs appeared on her tail and started to fire.

With a mighty curse with deafened Rugan and Mayberry she spun her bird into a loop, pretty sure her passengers from First Platoon in the back would not be pleased; at least their stomachs wouldn't. For what seemed like the thousandth time that trip hot plasma bolts streaked past her bird, and she knew she was living on borrowed time. Her passive scanners picked up Mayberry's bird working on a couple party crashers of his own, which meant she was alone, surrounded and probably about to die.

Funny how this was never mentioned in the recruitment commercials.

Just as she looped around again the cruiser in front of her fired one of its accurate pulse lasers, the ray being bright enough to cause Hocus's goggles to dim to their darkest setting and still make her eyes water. But it proved to be key, because when she looked up she saw a thin film rush back around the turret.

The shield dropped to allow for laser fire?

A daring plan entered Hocus's mind, and because it was the only plausible way out of the situation, she went ahead with it without a second thought. She pushed her engines as far as they would go and plunged straight for the pulse laser turret.

Her timing had to be perfect, and immediately she realized she'd gone too fast and threw the thrusters in reverse, feeling the tug on her safety harness. She couldn't maneuver, in case she missed her window, and she could almost feel the Seraphs' weapons getting closer to eating through her hull.

Right before they hit, Hocus couldn't help but shout one last joke out of flight jock bravado. "Ladies and gentlemen we're expecting some turbulence, so the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. If your ass isn't in a seat get it there _now. _Thank you."

The laser fired, the Pelican's thrusters maxed out again, and Hocus prayed.

For the next few seconds it was as if Hocus was seeing events not from her body but rather as an outside observer. She saw her Pelican slip past the laser and into the dip that was present in every Covenant ship's hull. She saw the shield reform around the laser and, most importantly, she saw the Seraphs, too engaged in the chase to pull up in time, smash into the shield and explode in a ball of hot gases and twisted metal, the shield's film briefly illuminated as borealis rippled across.

Then Hocus was back in her own head, just in time to pull up sharply so her bird slammed into the ship's hull and skid across the alien metal, instead of just crashing altogether. When the stop came it came much too soon, and everyone in the cockpit was caught on their harnesses before being slammed back into their seats, and several thumps echoing from the back indicated First Platoon had the same happen in their safety seats, which lined the back hatch's walls.

Hocus tasted blood in her mouth, but besides that she was intact. The next thought went to her bird. "Chief, how bad is it?" she asked, genuinely concerned. In the ever shifting duties of the UNSC, the one constant Hocus had was her Pelican; the two had been through a lot together. All in all—and Hocus hated admitting this to herself—the one true friend she had was this Pelican.

_Holy hell _she thought. _I need to get out more._

Mayberry wiped the sweat from his brow with a napkin he'd saved from his last meal before scanning his instruments. "We're….okay. Belly jets are a bit banged up, naturally, and so is the bottom hull, but…" he double- and triple-checked what he was reading before he completed his sentence "…I think we'll be able to do reentry. Just make it a nice gentle glide slope, will you?"

"Roger that," Hocus replied. "Now we just have to wait for that laser to fire agai—"

"Ma'am!" Rugan cried. "Look!"

Hocus did look, and found herself staring at a group of Covenant Elites, as ugly as she remembered them. There were about twenty of them, all wearing what appeared to be their version of EVA suits for work in space. The plasma rifles they held shined from the reflection of the hull, and—Hocus blinked so her goggles would zoom in, just to make sure—it appeared they were smiling. Really ugly, scary smiles.

"Oh shit," she said simply.

The aliens opened fire in unison.

_Scene Transition_

Silent as the universe itself the _Radcliffe _reentered normal space and quickly maneuvered its microthrusters to make the ship remain stationary. Once the order for thrusters to maintain station keeping had been carried out and it was abundantly clear they weren't being shot at for what seemed like the first time in years, Admiral Harper took a while to sum up everything they'd learned in the past few hours.

He came up with four sentences.

One: the _Radcliffe _should've been destroyed in the ambush. That much was obvious. No one should get away with a stupid tactical blunder of that magnitude. Hell, the only damage they'd taken was when the reactor got too hot and had fused a few bolts, and that had been fixed a while ago. Jack didn't believe in karma, but he had a feeling if he hadn't been punished for that mistake yet, he would soon enough.

Second: something was wrong with how the Covenant had started the attack on Earth. A few ships, followed by reinforcements later? The Covenant almost never called for help; they were too proud, especially the Elites. And why send such a small force to their enemy's home world? It made no sense…unless, like Holmes had suggested, they hadn't _known _humanity was on Earth when they'd set out, which just made things all the more curious.

Third: Slipspace was boring as hell, but that was a given.

Lastly: They were dead lost.

Slipspace was a terribly fickle dimension they were only beginning to understand. Even when you knew where you wanted to go you could end up millions of kilometers off course. Since the _Radcliffe _had jumped without even putting in a destination solution, they could literally be _anywhere._

"Anything?" Harper asked.

Once again the holopad warmed and Holmes's avatar appeared, smoking his pipe as usual. "Not a peep sir. No pings from any UNSC satellites, outposts or ships. I'm comparing constellations to known patterns to try to search for a near match. Give me about ten minutes for a complete result."

Considering how many stars there were Harper thought this was an excellent time frame and told Holmes to carry on. "No Covenant on the scope Commander?" he asked his NAV officer.

"No sir." Commander Thomas almost sounded disappointed. "Just vacuum. I should warn you, Admiral, that there's a black hole just forty million kilometers distant. Scans are picking up a lot of energy being sucked in. She's a big sucker, sir."

"Understood. We'll be okay so long as we're at station keeping. Keep me apprised."

Admiral Harper sunk into his command chair and massaged his temples, wondering what to do. The obvious choice was to jump back to Earth immediately, but he didn't want to until he knew everything was one hundred percent and he wasn't taking another Covenant fleet back home with him. So he'd wait for Holmes to figure out where they were, maybe log a couple thing for an astrophysics journal or two, and then get back to fighting his heart out for all they had left. "Weapons hot?"

"As always sir," Lieutenant Commander Clemons replied. "Archer pods U through Z are ready to fire; all others have been spent. MAC is up and running, Shivas are ready to be deployed, and if need be we could always throw wrenches out of the airlock."

Harper chuckled silently, appreciating the Commander's ability to make jokes. Actually, his entire crew was taking everything in stride exceptionally well. Commanders Thomas and Clemons making jokes, Batista offering to make coffee for the crew…even Holmes, the resident pessimist, was limiting the comments of despair. Which made Harper wonder…was it hope that drove them, or the realization that they were doomed?

Holmes chose to speak over the intercom rather than appear on the holopad. "Analysis concluded, Admiral."

"Good. Where the hell are we, Holmes?"

"I don't have a clue."

"Give me a best guess then. Anything!"

Holmes's next sentence carried with it a trace of irritation, like his work wasn't being appreciated. _Well, _Admiral Harper thought _I guess it isn't. Not fully. _"Constellation patterns are strikingly dissimilar to any in the UNSC database. This leads me to conclude that we are not remotely close to any UNSC logged territory. The closest match was Urgunda, but even that was less than ten percent and—"

"Give me the poor man's abbreviated version, please. I have a headache."

"Alright, short and simple it is: we're the first human ship to be in this part of the universe."

Harper digested this information. Or tried to, anyway; it felt like he was coughing it up as he tried to swallow. Well I guess that's what we get for making a blind jump. Can you get us back to Earth?""Just have to go the opposite way we came. For all its faults, Slipspace is still essentially linear."

"Good. Per the Cole Protocol initiate a few random jumps—"

"Admiral…"

"—before you set the destination solution—"

"Sir…"

"—for Earth."

"Admiral!"

"_What _Commander?" Harper asked annoyed of Commander Thomas. "What is so important you need to interrupt me?"

"That black hole, sir. It's moving."

Admiral Harper took a full three seconds for his disbelief before he replied. "The black hole is _what?"_

Commander Thomas was typing on his keyboard faster than he ever had before, his eyes

as blur as they swept across the screen. "Moving, sir. Toward us and at a rather rapid rate. It'll be

on top of us…" he did the complicated math in his head "within five minutes."

Harper fingered a control or two on his command chair and a hologram popped up in front of him, mimicking what was on Commander Thomas's screen. He scanned the figures and readouts carefully as they scrolled past. "Holmes, is this right?"

"It appears so, Admiral. Something that's sucking up enormous amounts of energy is indeed moving toward us at quite an alarming rate. I can't account for it; profile matches no known human or Covenant space faring vessels."

The Admiral didn't have time to think any of this through; that would come later. All he could do was act. "Batista, move us forty thousand kilometers relative to our port side. Holmes, whichever hull camera will give us the best angle, use it. I want a picture the second that thing gets within range, and when you have a picture archive it and transmit a report back to FLEETCOM. Commander Clemons, track it with the MAC gun and put the Shivas on standby. If that thing so much as points a flare gun in our direction I want you to blow it to hell with everything we've got."

Not waiting to hear them acknowledge his orders, Admiral Harper pulled down the ship's intercom. "General quarters, general quarters. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat not a drill. Make ready to repel boarders. Repeat make ready to repel boarders."

"Boarders, Admiral?" Holmes asked.

"Can't be too careful," Harper said, half to the AI and half to himself. "We didn't know Covenant flagships existed until two months ago. Who knows what the hell we're dealing with?"

Holmes materialized on the holopad again. He looked at Admiral Harper through his glasses almost condescendingly. Unlike before, now his avatar was holding a book in the crux of his left arm. "I'm sure the Admiral is aware that, considering that we're in an uncharted region of space, this could be another alien species altogether."

The bridge, noisy before as everyone bustled about with activity, suddenly became silent. One glare from Admiral Harper and they all returned to work, and then he turned back to Holmes. "I know it," he said. "I know it and that's why I'm being doubly careful. Remember what happened when we first made contact with the Covenant? I won't let this ship end up like Harvest. This time we're going to be prepared."

"Contact coming on screen," Commander Thomas said. He typed up one last line and turned to watch the screen, as did the entire bridge, Admiral Harper included.

When it did come into view Admiral Harper stared in disbelief at what his eyes saw. "Would anyone like to tell me," he said very slowly, not trusting himself to speak, "what the hell that _thing _is?"

Everyone remained silent, except for Holmes. "Well I can tell you what it's not, Admiral," he said. "That is definitely _not _a black hole."

_Scene Transition_

Hocus simultaneously opened the throttle wide, though she couldn't hear it over her own yelling. She also pulled the trigger that connected with the Pelican's chin gun, so the Elites firing at her that didn't become pulp under the high caliber rounds became pulp when Hocus simply ran them over.

Coincidently her last enemy took its last breath just as a second pulse laser fired, so Hocus immediately pulled up steeply before the shield reformed itself. No enemies seemed to be following her, so she gunned it and within seconds was following the glide path Mayberry had calculated she needed to take.

When she saw the flames licking her bird's underbelly as they reentered Earth's atmosphere, she breathed a sigh of relief. Up here the magnetic field around the planet dissolved any plasma bolts, so for a few, brief, glorious moments, Pelican Foxtrot 327 was invincible.

Then they were through, and the war came back.

"It's about time you showed up," Jessup said over the radio. "You were almost late. We managed to save some party favors for you." A loud explosion could be heard in the background.

Smiling and now out of danger of burning up in the atmosphere, Hocus readjusted her angle and dove steeply, pulling a barrel roll or two on her way. "Much obliged. We'll be there to pick them up shortly. Mind showing us the way home?"

A new voice came onto the radio, with the bored air of someone who'd been directing traffic all day. "Your designated LZ is just outside New Mombasa ma'am. First Platoon is to meet with a ground commander and receive further orders. After First Platoon had been dropped off you are to take off immediately and enter a holding pattern until further instructed." A bright NAV point appeared on the Pelican's digital topographical map, and Hocus knew from training and obvious logic that there was her destination.

"Roger that," she said before switching to the Pelican's internal PA. "Ladies and gentlemen we are now beginning our descent into New Mombasa, and at this time please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in the upright and locked position. For those of you on our UNSC Frequent Flier program you'll have received a hundred credits for today's flight, redeemable at the counter. We know you really don't have a choice when you fly, so we thank you for not whining long enough for us to do our job. Have a pleasant stay, and kick Covie ass."

A round of applause and cheers audible in the back gave Hocus some satisfaction. She knew not all of them would be coming back, so it pleased her that they had at least one more laugh before the end.

Meanwhile, in the back, Avis ejected the clip on his MA5B and checked all sixty bullets were there for what was likely the millionth time since taking off. When he wiped his forehead with a gloved hand, he found it was drenched with sweat. Thankfully no one else had noticed, but to say the Staff Sergeant was nervous was the biggest understatement in history.

Slamming the clip home again for what was likely the millionth and first time, Avis closed his eyes while he tried to think through his worries. The platoon knew what it was doing, and the Covenant would be in for a nasty surprise when they hit the surface. Tripp and Kip were doing alright, yet their condition had worsened, likely because they'd been forced to strap into the highly uncomfortable and rigid crash seats the Pelican supplied. Avis reminded himself yet again that he needed to get them to a med tech ASAP, and then he wanted to know why the hell they couldn't spend five minutes aiding the two on the _Cairo._

"Sergeant Feinst, are you receiving?" Avis called into his radio. If Flight Officer Jessup's bird went down, and half his platoon was gone…

"Yes sir," Feinst's guttural managed to say, and Avis breathed a sigh of relief. "We're at the LZ and waiting for you.""Any officers itchy to tell us what to do?"

"Yes sir. Big guy. Pretty sure he's a Colonel, at least."

"Interesting. Issue a standing order for all men to remain alert for any signs of trouble. Forget decorum. This is combat.""Aye sir. Feinst out."

_Alright _Avis thought to himself. _Alright, we're ready. _And First Platoon _was _ready. It was Avis that was having a problem with nerves. While he wasn't exactly new to combat, this was the first time they'd be in a major battle since Avis had been given command. Hopefully the skirmishes aboard the _Cairo _were an indication of the platoon's performance throughout the entire campaign, but if Avis was as unprepared as he thought he was…

Then he saw Soda sitting directly across from him, the only man that appeared more worried than he was. He was apparently so nervous he kept trying to slide the bolt on his rifle, only to have it slip from his fingers and snap back, which caused Soda to utter a curse under his breath and start all over. Avis saw the young marine, saw his nerves, and realized it didn't matter at all whether Avis was nervous or not. He needed to appear ready, appear in control, because if he didn't the entire platoon was going to fall apart from nerves. It was as if they unconsciously mirrored his level of stoicism, be it very high or low.

"Soda," he yelled over the roar of the Pelican's engines. Amazingly the marine managed to snap to attention even restricted by the crash seat's safety harness. "Yes sir!"

As Avis spoke he smiled, just enough to be reassuring. "Use your index and middle finger, one on either side of the bolt. Like this." He pinched the bolt between the middle of the two fingers, forgoing using his fingertips, and thrust his arm back, hearing the satisfying _snap _as the bolt locked into place.

"Yes sir!" Soda said, and suddenly slid his rifle's bolt back without trouble. "Thank you sir."

Avis nodded. "Soda?"

"Yes sir?""Just keep your head down out there and you'll be fine. I promise."

Soda smiled for the first time. "Yes sir. Thank you sir." He slid back into his seat and relaxed for the first time.

Avis remained smiling, but there was no longer any sincerity in it. _That was stupid _he told himself. _That was damn stupid. You should not have said that to him. _Because the plain honest truth was that he _couldn't _promise Soda, couldn't promise anyone that they'd be fine. For all he knew they'd all be dead in thirty seconds. There was comforting and then there was honesty. And now all the men had heard him say it, heard him promise Soda he'd be okay, which in their minds meant he'd promised all of _them _to. Avis wanted to hit something to get rid of the anger toward himself, but he kept it in check. He knew it wouldn't be long before he had plenty of things to take out his frustration on.

A few minutes later the Pelican's landing gear could be heard lowering and before Avis knew it the bird lurched as the wheels hit the pad. By the time his men had released their safety harnesses the back hatch was opening and First Platoon filed through. Avis came out last and found Hocus waiting for him. "Thanks for the ride," he said.

"No problem sir," Hocus replied, grinning wildly. "Hope the turbulence wasn't too bad."

The Staff Sergeant shrugged. "I've been through worse…on a roller coaster."

Hocus laughed. "Any time you need a ride, sir, you make sure to call."

"I will, Hocus. Good luck." He started to leave.

"Luck?" Hocus repeated after him. "It'll take more than a bunch of aliens with superior technology and training to take me down sir! I don't need luck!"

Avis smiled to himself for a few seconds. Then reality caught up.

The LZ was a large lot—at least a square kilometer—in the middle of the warehouse district. Large hangars and warehouses punctuated the horizon at points, but the real silhouettes were the command cubicles made from a pliable yet stiff polymer, which had long replaced the archaic concept of tents. Men in combat gear were running about everywhere in all conceivable directions, separated only by the Pelicans taking off and landing, as well as the Warthogs—large jeeps that could hold a driver, passenger, and one more to man the massive M12 LAAG high caliber chain gun that rested in the back—that were driving in designated "lanes" separated by rudimentary traffic cones.

The first person he recognized was Sergeant Feinst, though even that was hard to do because he had his hand over his eyes to protect from the dust stirred up by the belly jets of Hocus's Pelican as she took off. When she was gone the two men shook each other's hand. Now that they were in a combat zone, all saluting did was make men targets for enemy snipers.

"Glad you got here in one piece sir," Feinst said, leading them away from the landing pad. "Welcome to Temporary Base Gamma."

"Good to be here," replied Avis. "Do you have a sitrep for me, or does that duty lie with our friend high up on the food chain?"

"The situation report is indeed to be handed out by our current CO," Feinst said, never taking his eyes off the path he was taking. Suddenly his face became chiseled and stoic. "He requested that you enter the briefing _alone._"

"Which is a polite way of saying he ordered it," Avis muttered, trying to understand why this man would make it a point of sending Avis alone to the briefing. "Very well."

A minute later they arrived at one of the polymer cubicles, inconspicuous among the others except for the two PFCs standing guard on either side of the entrance. They nodded as the men approached, and one used a hand to open a slit in the material, which indicated Avis should enter. "Make sure the men are ready to move out," Avis told Feinst. Then, taking a deep breath to counter the anxiety he felt every time he went one on one with an officer, he stepped inside.

The interior was well lit and square shaped, the only furniture being a table so weighed down with old paper maps, weapons and computers its legs were making a deep impression in the polymer on the floor. Staffers bustled about doing this or that, but at the head of the table seemed to be the man Avis was looking for.

He wasn't exceptionally tall, but the way he carried himself seemed to add four inches to his height. His hair was silver, closely cropped and all but hidden underneath a decorative hat that matched his olive green uniform. It seemed he was in his late sixties, and his hands were heavily scarred, possibly from severe burns. When he looked up Avis noticed three things: his deep, dark brown eyes, the enormous amount of campaign ribbons on his chest, and the two silver stars on his lapel that indicated he wasn't a colonel, but a major general.

"Sir!" Avis snapped to attention almost out of reflex. "Staff Sergeant Avis Hughie reporting as ordered sir!" He stood rigid.

Normally this was when most men would say "at ease" or "as you were" and carry on from there. This man, however, left Avis standing like that for three long minutes before even acknowledging him, and with that the atmosphere of the entire exchange changed.

Finally the man looked up again, gave Avis a look over several times, and at last said "At ease," like he really didn't want to say it at all. "Staff Sergeant, I'm Major General Kaffee. Until I know otherwise I'm in charge of getting this city back. Is your platoon combat ready, Hughie?"

"Please, call me Avis," Avis said in an attempt to get back on the general's good side. "Yes sir. I just have two men that need medical care immediately."

"I'm sure your second in command will take care of it," Kaffee said tersely. "We have other things to discuss. With me." And with that he simply turned and went to the back of the cubicle, Avis following cautiously.

The general snapped his fingers and the back wall exploded into a holographic display of

New Mombasa and the surrounding area from an orbital perspective. Once Avis's eyes adjusted to the three-dimensional display it was easy to tell the city was shaped like a target: an outer ring that made up the poorer areas and surrounded the inner portion that was the city center, the two were separated by a large bay and connected by several bridges.

"This is New Mombasa as it should be," Kaffee began. "Simple, inelegant, a blight on the world really. This is what happened to it an hour ago." He snapped his fingers again and the display turned into a series of images: Phantoms swarming the skies; Grunts, Jackals and Elites jumping onto the city streets; grenades and rifle fire going off everywhere and destroying everything in its path; and warriors from both sides hitting the concrete and never getting up again.

"Initial casualties were extreme," the general continued, tone as stoic as ever. "At present Covenant forces have a pretty good hold on the city center and not so good of a hold on a few of the outlying areas. For some reason the only place they've landed is here, right above the city center." The images of battle ceased and it was replaced by a standard photo of a massive Covenant carrier. "Intel tells us one of the Covenant leaders, apparently called the Prophet of Regret—damn silly name—is on that ship and he's calling for help. One of our AIs has constantly been monitoring the Covenant battlenet, and we're pretty sure Regret came looking for something and didn't know we were here. Anyway, at present the Spartan is trying to break through and capture Regret for interrogation. Our job is to make that a little easier for him."

The photo dissolved and turned back into the display of the city.

"Take a squad of Warthogs to this bridge," Kaffee instructed, the bridge becoming highlighted of its own accord as he spoke. "We'll send in Pelicans to try to weaken the perimeter forces. You enter this highway tunnel," the display zoomed in and illuminated the tunnel in question, "try to remain hidden as much as you can, stick to the sewers and such, until you get to these coordinates," a set of longitude and latitude appeared on the screen, and Avis felt his COM pad vibrate as it too received the numbers. "That'll put you right under the carrier. When the Master Chief gives you the signal you pop up and raise eight kinds of hell on them. Distract, and then help the Master Chief get onto the carrier and capture Regret. That's it."

Avis looked at the display carefully. "Well sir, we'll do all that we can. When do we leave?"

"Depends. You think your two guys will be combat ready in the next hour?"

"Yes sir. They're tough nuts to crack."

"Good. The second they're bandaged get out there. Best of luck to you son." He saluted.

Avis returned the salute. "Thank you sir. We'll be sure to give them hell." But General Kaffee wasn't paying attention, because he'd just received a phone call.

The Staff Sergeant made to leave, but he hadn't taken two steps before. "Hold on a sec Avis." He turned to find Kaffee staring at him. The general didn't speak again until he put down the receiver. "Orders from FLEETCOM. You're to proceed to Voi now ASAP. Meet up with a Captain Waran." He looked shocked. "I guess we'll send in someone else. Flight Officer Devoir will be the one to take you. I've already called her."

Avis was as shocked as he was. "Aye sir. We're on it."So ten minutes after Avis had gotten off Hocus's bird, he was jumping back on again, wondering what the hell he was needed in Voi for.

Hocus dropped First Platoon off on a narrow street fashioned in the local style, which

was to say it was made of dirt. Avis tried to smile at the locals that stared at him from the rundown shops that lined the street's edges, but the blank look they gave him made him so uneasy he quickly gave up. He couldn't blame them; he had to admit to himself it would look pretty odd for thirty marines to be walking casually ninety miles from where the battle was actually taking place. Still, it would've been nice to get just one wave from somebody, so he didn't feel like he was somehow robbing them of all their food or something.

The closer Avis got to the building he had been told to go to—a little factory on the outskirts of town—the more he felt something was wrong. If this Captain Waran was really here, why was he by himself, and why was there no Warthog parked out in front? Everything about this felt like a trap. And Avis had sworn to himself long ago he would not be duped by a trap.

"Feinst, Soda, Swider and Haverson with me," Avis said. "The rest of you spread out and keep your eyes open. This doesn't feel right." With that he put his rifle to his shoulder and entered the building with his handpicked squad covering him from behind.

The lobby was nothing particularly fancy to look at; just a vacant small desk big enough for a single receptionist and a small waiting area which was just a fancy way of saying a tiny space where several hard-looking uncomfortable chairs were located. Night had fallen a few hours ago, and the only illumination was a few flickering lights that were embedded in the ceiling. Automatically the lights attached to the men's rifles just under the barrel sprung to life, throwing everything in sharp relief as spidery shadows were cast upon the walls.

"Greetings Staff Sergeant," a voice echoed from unseen speakers, and it startled the men so much they immediately took cover behind the nearest thing they could find and got ready to fire. "Whoa, whoa," the voice said. "Calm down. Believe me, I wouldn't try to hurt you guys, especially since I need you so desperately. Look." The lights turned on of their own accord. "See? Please, get up. The Covenant are the enemy, not me."

The men looked to Avis, who wasn't quite convince just yet. "Are you Captain Waran?"

The voice chuckled before answering. "More or less. It's an alias, actually, but I didn't have another way to get you down here with attracting attention. But I'll explain everything. Just follow the lights. I turned on the ones that will lead you to me."

Avis gave the hand signal for "keep alert" and led the way.

"This is wrong," Haverson whispered to Swider, though it was loud enough that everyone could hear. "We should be getting the Covenant out of New Mombasa, not following voices in empty buildings miles away from the fight."

"You don't like it, then you can leave," Feinst said. "But expect my boot up your ass before you manage to get two steps. Then I really start in. But believe me when I say there'll be plenty of Covenant for you to get rid of later."

The hallway went left, then right, then left, left again, and a final right before arriving at a steel door. As Avis approached it swung open and lead to two rooms, separated only by a layer of glass and a sliding door. The room they were in was the larger, at least a football field long, bisected by a track that started at one end and ended at a large target board all the way at the other end. It was the second room they were interested in, however, because a pair of mechanical arms were twisting around a large tube that appeared to be about three feet long, sparks flying as the hot tips made contact with the metal that the tube was made of and clanging could be heard as a pair of pincers also on each of the arms made a tweak here and there.

The marines entered cautiously, especially wary of the mechanical arms, as they were the only things that were moving. Avis swept the room with a quick glance, and when nothing started shooting at him he lowered his weapon and paid attention to a computer monitor on the far side of the room, noticing it only because it had started to warm up.

The monitor displayed images three dimensionally, so it wouldn't be wrong to say that at that moment the holographic image of a man jumped off the screen and into the air. He was dressed in a suit, but it was as if he had dressed haphazardly; the shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves were open and rolled up past his elbows, and his suit jacket, pants and shiny black shoes appeared dirty and covered with grime as if he'd been traveling for some time. What really made him stand out were his physical features: narrow eyes of gray, a young, fair face and black hair that was short, but spiked and slicked back at an angle. When he saw everyone was paying attention to him, he took off his suit coat and tossed it aside; Avis watched it disappear in a flutter of pixels as it left the view of the monitor's projector.

"You're Captain Waran?" Avis asked.

"Told you it was an alias," the AI said, for it was definitely an AI. By now all the men had their eyes on him. "Though not a very clever one, even by human standards. My real name is Arawn."

Avis sighed. "Look, Arawn, we really don't have time for this, because there's a battle going on for Earth, in case you haven't noticed. So if you'll excuse us..." he turned to leave and made it as far as the door.

"I'm well aware there's a battle going on, Staff Sergeant," Arawn called back. "And I'm well aware of what is at stake. I called you here because I know how to win, and I know what the Covenant came here for."

"Well _don't_ we all?" Feinst argued. "To kick our asses and exterminate humanity. It kind of became obvious after the first twenty mass slaughters of civilians."

Arawn responded to his comment, but kept looking at Avis. "No. That's not why they're here. They came here looking for something. Several somethings. I'm not sure entirely what yet, but I have access to the Covenant battlenet, so I know what they're doing when they're doing it. I can help you win this battle, Avis, and possibly win this war altogether."

Obviously Avis had heard something he liked, because he stopped and turned. "So why not go straight to FLEETCOM?"

"I have my reasons," Arawn said, coughing immediately after. His hologram flickered slightly. "Look, FLEETCOM won't listen to me. As far as they're concerned, I'm rogue. They'd destroy me at the flick of a keyboard. I need someone on the ground, a soldier who can use the intel I give them to fight and win. I'm asking your platoon to go rogue with me, Staff Sergeant. Disobey the chain of command and trust me to give you what you need to win. FLEETCOM doesn't know what they're up against, not yet, and by the time they figure it out it'll be too late. Please, question me if you will. I can give you information to gain your trust. What do you want?"

Avis thought briefly. "Haverson, you're good with code, right?"

"Top of my class at Luna, sir."

"Arawn, give Haverson access to your core-logic. He'll check if you are what you say you are. And full access too. No surprises."

A keyboard ejected itself from within the wall, as did a screen. "At your discretion, sir."

Haverson wasted no time tapping at the keyboard rapidly as he scanned numerous amounts of Arawn's core-logic. Arawn's avatar flickered. "That tickles," he said with a smile. "Anyway, I have already asked Flight Officer Devoir to assist us, and she was quite delighted. It seems she has a rebellious nature. As we speak she is en route to pick us up. If you say no to my offer, she will simply take you back to the command post, and I'll work on some other plan. Though I urge you to say yes, Staff Sergeant. It's the best way."

Avis and Arawn stared at each other, neither yielding their gaze. "Arawn…why me?" Avis asked. "Why us? Why First Platoon?"

Arawn coughed and smiled again. "Because you have an ability that is exceedingly rare these days, Staff Sergeant: you are willing to trust your gut. I have no idea where this will lead us, but I do know I can handle the analytical parts. I need someone you understand and successfully uses instinct. You're my man. You're all my platoon."

Haverson slid the keyboard back into its slot. "Looks clean to me, sir," he said. "Though I can never be entirely certain. I suggest you have a tech at HQ do a full diagnostic."

Arawn shook his head. "No time, sir. We have to act now. Trust me, I implore you."

Avis only took a few seconds to decide. "No, you're right, let's go. How am I supposed to transport you?"

The mechanical arms lifted into the recesses of the ceiling. "I'm already in that processor-matrix tube. Just slip me over one shoulder with the strap, and you'll have instant transportation for me. I'll be able to communicate through your standard helmet COM."

Avis did as he was told, slipping the strap over his head so the tube rested comfortably on his shoulder. "Alright, Arawn. This is essentially your show now. As far as the UNSC is concerned I'm committing treason, and I'm asking my men to do the same. So, where to?"

"Sir," one of the marines outside, Raggins, said over the radio. "Dropship in sight, one of ours. Did you order the pickup?"

"It's supposed to be here," Avis replied. "First Platoon, move out."

Inside the processor-matrix tube, Arawn's systems cycled down for a brief second before a sudden surge of energy spiked through his system; the AI equivalent of a cough. He ran another diagnostic and saw it told him the same thing he'd seen the last time he checked. Annoyed, he diverted a little more power to his internal maintenance systems, thankful he'd been able to fool Haverson and keep Avis from running a full check. If he'd found what Arawn was hiding…though the AI had to admit, it was going to come out soon eventually.

He only hoped he could change things for the better first.

The Pelican was packed superbly tight with all of First Platoon in the hold, many standing in the area between the crash seats, holding onto tight fabric loops woven into the ceiling to keep balance. Avis, being in command, was one of the few given a seat, though considering exactly which part of Swider's body was in his face at the moment, he would've taken the option to stand in a heartbeat.

It was so crowded Hocus had left the back hatch open, which was a welcome relief to the marines as fresh air blew in and cycled around the stale air with odors of sweat, gunpowder, and something curiously akin to expired parsley. Some of Avis's men smiled and talked with each other animatedly, and he was glad to see Soda was among them.In a second, everything changed. Hocus suddenly cursed loudly into her radio and she swung the Pelican around gunning the belly jets so they flew away from the city as fast as possible. When they were fully turned Avis could see one of the Covenant ships, the big one with the Prophet of Regret on it, starting to move, and he watched as a Slipspace field opened on its bow.

It was going to jump…_inside _the city.

The massive ship disappeared in a violently violet portal. The void almost seemed to collapse on itself before exploding outward violently, and Avis saw the buildings of New Mombasa instantly vaporized. The explosion just expanded outward more and more, destroying mile after mile of landscape, and it was clear the thing was not going to stop. Avis followed Hocus's lead and cursed.

They were almost back to Voi when the shockwave hit, flashes of violet shooting past and the force enough to knock the Pelican into an uncontrollable spin and descent. Apparently they'd been far enough away not to be destroyed…by the Slipspace rupture, at least.

Avis managed to get out one last swear before they hit, and they hit hard.


	4. Revelations

**0058 Hours, 24 October, 2552**

**Unknown artificial construct**

**Unknown region of space**

Spacesuits had evolved quite a bit since the one seen in the iconic image of the Apollo moon landing almost six hundred years before. The material was now of a lightweight and flexible wire, woven tightly together so it was airtight. Then special packets of a quick-sealing foam were inserted at the articulation points, ready to activate should part of the suit rupture at some point, and then covered on either side by a special insulated fabric to protect against the extreme temperature. This made the suit almost as flexible as normal clothing, the only exception being the stiff pack about the size of a book attached to the back, which supplied air and climate control. All in all, in theory, a person should be able to move about in EVA as well as they did on solid ground.

Commander Jayson Thomas was living proof this theory was a load of crap.

Because Admiral Harper hadn't wanted to risk the _Radcliffe _to any damage, it was decided the boarding party should approach in a few small Lionfish—little more than a small metal craft shaped like an open umbrella with thrusters—and enter from there. There were no spinning sections on Lionfish—there were no spinning sections on anything other than the big ships, for that matter—so Commander Thomas was floating around the circular pod where they waited for the computer to maneuver them. Unfortunately he also had a habit of banging his head into everything, and since he didn't have to wear his helmet yet, it hurt. A lot.

But what he was approaching took his mind off the pain.

Through the perfectly circular window he saw what he had first read as a black hole, a magnificently large space station that made the _Radcliffe _look like a mere speck; it was at least a few hundred square kilometers. The shape…it was impossible to define the shape; whatever it was made of, it curved and shimmered and crossed over itself in such a way that at one moment Jayson thought he was looking at it from the side, the next as if from the front, and then from the top, all without ever changing his gaze. It was like a Riemann surface in that you weren't sure as to just what the hell it was. All Commander Thomas knew was that it was hurting his eyes, and he'd be thankful when they were inside the thing. Assuming nothing was aiming a weapon at his head once he got there, of course.

"Initializing deceleration burn," Holmes's voice crackled over the Lionfish's primitive radio, which looked like it had been put together around the nineteen twenties. The single thruster sent a rough _hum_ throughout the craft. Around Jayson two men made sure everything was ready in their cameras to document the experience, while there were about five others cycling the bolts on their rifles, just to be safe. Trailing behind them were three other Lionfish, and Commander Thomas could only assume the men in there were doing the same thing.

"ETA to grapple: two minutes," Holmes said. "My scans show no movement, but the signal's really weak, so…"

"So you really have no idea," Jayson finished for him.

"Precisely."

"You know Holmes," Admiral Harper's voice rang out, and Commander Thomas could imagine him on the bridge of the _Radcliffe, _speaking into a microphone attached to a headset, "there seems to be a lot you don't know lately."

Holmes bristled, or at least that's what Commander Thomas thought he was doing, because the radio suddenly filled with static and a high-pitched whine throttled his ears. "I'm doing what I can, Admiral," he said. "But it would appear I am unappreciated." Then he turned all the lights off, tripped the fire alarm, and caused the reactors to sputter before surging the system and rebooting everything aboard the _Radcliffe_.

Hell hath no fury like an AI scorned.

Commander Thomas was distracted from this sudden emotional outburst of a computer program, however, because the Lionfish attached itself to the strange construct.

Lionfish were not boarding craft. They were designed more like escape pods, with electromagnets located around the tip of the "umbrella" designed to hook onto the hull of a ship in an emergency. Then an arc welder would cut through the hull, several airtight seals would emerge and create a primitive airlock, and then the people could simply crawl out of the Lionfish through the tip and voila, instant rescue.

Holmes had selected the attachment location based on the thinness of the hull, which happened to be somewhere midway along the hull. Commander Thomas heard the arc welder sizzling, followed by several small _pops _as the hull was breached and the seals secured, and when a green light flashed above the small tunnel that was the hollow interior of the Lionfish's tip, two marines exited, assault rifles leveled at the exit. When they called out the all clear over the radio, Commander Thomas sealed his helmet to his suit and followed, banging his foot into a beam as he did.

The first thing he noticed when he finally exited the Lionfish was the floor immediately under him—a dull metallic gray color—and he noticed because some sort of gravity took in and smashed him into it. He got up in a rather ungraceful manner before noticing that the ceiling was at least thirty feet high. Wall the majority of the interior was metallic and gray, they were also cut with glowing blue geometric figures and other glyphs, and Commander Thomas was vaguely reminded of Aztec symbols, just dissimilar enough to be completely unique. These symbols also dotted the floors at what seemed to be regular intervals near the sides, and every now and then they'd flicker.

The lights were dim, which was to say the shade of light they were was just a tad darker and a tad less powerful than what Commander Thomas was used to. The hallway he found himself in stretched at least a hundred yards both to his left and right, each direction guarded by one of the marines. A few yards to his left the other three Lionfish were just getting in, so a total party of about thirty men congregated by the center disembarking hole.

"What d'you see Commander?" Harper asked over the radio. "The signal's not strong enough and the hull's too thick to get a video feed from your helmet cam. You're going to have to describe it manually, I'm afraid."

"We've entered into a large hallway, very tall, very long," Commander Thomas said. "Odd symbols seem to be the decoration of choice, which we're photographing." He took out a mechanical sniffer from the satchel he was carrying and let it take a sample. "Air appears to be…breathable. Readouts show slightly higher concentrations of oxygen than Earth normal. Gravity is right around what we're used to as well." Commander Thomas unsealed his helmet and prepared to breathe, hand fingering the purge switch on his suit that would instantly reseal his helmet and flush any toxic gases out of his suit so he wouldn't be killed.

He took a breath, and it was stale.

Stale, but not deadly. Commander Thomas took a deep breath and gently tossed his now useless helmet back into the Lionfish. "Alright, here we go. Next step?"

"You have the infrared transmitter," Holmes said. "And the techs attached the relay to each of the Lionfish. Find anything that remotely resembles a power cable or transmitter of some sort and I should be able to remotely connect to at least some of the construct's basic systems, maybe pull up some kind of schematic."

"Roger. Let's move out."

The band of people went down the hall to the right, those with cameras snapping pictures of each new symbol or series of symbols as they passed. Once they reached the corner, the hallway curved to the left, and it was while walking down this stretch weird things began to happen. One second everything was normal, the next the world was upside down and he could've sworn he was walking on the ceiling. By the time he realized what had happened he was back on the floor, and within ten steps this happened twice more.

The marines got on one knee and swept their rifles around, suspecting this was the start of something preparing to pop out any second and attack. "What happened?" Holmes asked. "That was a sudden and powerful energy spike we picked up."

"Not sure," Jayson said. "Some sort of gravity abnormality. We ended up walking on the ceiling a few times."

"Odd," interjected Admiral Harper. "Any sign of…anything?"

"Negative sir."

"I'm detecting other energy spikes throughout the construct," Holmes said. "Not sure what to make of it. Most of the power seems to be emanating from right around where you are, so if you find a reactor there'll be a junction box that I can use…hopefully."

"Hopefully?"

"This is uncharted territory, Commander. For all I know whatever species this is generates the power from their own bodies. Either way, you're level with the center of the power source, but a bit off. Try taking a left as soon as possible, and then keep walking."

No sooner did Holmes speak then a loud _thrum _reverberated throughout the construct, and a section of the left wall directly next to the humans began to slowly descend. Naturally the marines held their rifles at the wall, waiting for hostile intent, and even Commander Thomas drew his M6G pistol and rested his finger on the trigger, jumpy that these weird things kept happening at random.

Then he saw something that made him drop his pistol, and it clattered to the floor.

The wall had slid away to reveal they were at the periphery of a vast open expanse of area, so magnificently huge it must've taken up most of the area of the construct. It was topped off by a domed ceiling and went so low Jayson couldn't even see the bottom. Millions upon millions of buildings and tall towers that jutted up and covered the vast expanse, but the biggest tower of them all was a massive building that nearly reached the tip of the domed roof, dull gray on the outer sections but with a bright blue core that even from this distance slightly hurt Jayson's eyes. Just the sheer _mass _of area they were looking at was incredible…then Commander Thomas had it.

"It's a city," he whispered. "My God, it's a city."

"Another surge!" Holmes said. "Right on top of you!"

Gravity went haywire, changing directions so fast and so often the men were essentially floating in midair. Then it did the malfunctioning gravitational equivalent of throwing up and chucked Commander Thomas right out into the city.

Apparently the wall sloped outward, so Jayson slid at a quite rapid rate, smooth alien metal accelerating his descent. He tried not to panic, and scratched at the wall trying to find a handhold. Finally he clasped a pipe that ran along the wall, feeling his shoulder almost pop out of its socket as inertia demanded he keep going.

"ARHH!" he yelled, hearing his voice echo slightly around the city below. His feet kept slipping on the slope, but eventually he got a small grip and pulled himself up. Thankfully, the pipe was thick enough that, if he leaned back just slightly, he could keep his balance.

Both his shoulders ached, but he ignored that as he looked up and saw he had fallen a good fifty yards or so, and the men looking down at him were but specks. He waved wildly to get their attention, and the sudden movement around the window told him it had worked.

"You still with us, Commander?" Admiral Harper asked, voice sounding as if he was trying to hide flat out concern.

"Trying to, sir," Jayson replied. "But if another flux like that happens I'm a goner. But sir, this construct…it's a giant city. There must be room for billions upon billions of life forms to live."

"And do you see billions upon billions of life forms, Commander?"

"No sir. Though I see the power supply you're picking up, Holmes. It's a massive energy core in the city center. In fact," he gave the pipe he was sitting on a tap, "I think the power line you wanted saved my life."

"Excellent," Holmes replied. "Just put the transmitter on the pipe; it should be powerful enough to permeate and tap into the signal."

Jayson did as he was told, and on the bridge of the _Radcliffe _a wealth of information infiltrated Holmes's databank as the ship's systems came online. He scanned the information carefully, picking and choosing what he wanted to see first, and within seconds surveillance and communications for the construct were on display.

"We're in," Holmes said for all to hear, and just then everything shut down. Holmes, at the moment in the construct's system, was suddenly attacked from all directions by the most powerful antivirus he'd ever seen. He threw up defenses, but they barely slowed the program down. He ran through system after system, barely keeping ahead of his attacker, finally losing it by masquerading as its own search-and-destroy algorithms. This fooled it only for a millisecond, much faster than when he'd used the trick on other systems, but it allowed Holmes to withdraw to the subroutines of the air purification systems and remained silent.

"_Where are you?!" _a pained and angry voice called throughout the system. Holmes responded by broadcasting solely through the infrared relays, where the "other" had no contact.

"Admiral, I don't know what that thing is, but there's something in the computer system, and I think I pissed it off," Holmes said.

"Be ready, Boarding Team," Harper called into the radio. "Not everything on that ship is friendly. Are you okay Holmes?"

"I'm hiding, but there's something more important I have to tell you. I don't think that's an antivirus program; it's way too sophisticated. I think it's an alien AI."

"Alien AI?" Harper repeated. "There's been rumors of Covenant AI—I know Cortana ran into one when trying to get back to Earth from the Halo ring—but this is a third party species AI?"

"It appears so, Admiral. But that's not the important bit. The important bit is that, if it is an AI, someone needs to physically maintain that power core Commander Thomas saw. Raw power would make the basic systems work, but it takes tuning to run an AI without causing a surge or blackout. Some sort of sentient being is alive on that ship."

Admiral Harper blanched. Things were getting very complicated very fast. "Commander, are you sure you can't see a single life form? Or at least a hint of one?"

Back on the pipe in the construct's city, Commander Thomas looked around again just to

make sure. "No, sir. I can't see a darn thing that appears alive. The place appears deserted."

Then he looked to his left, and realized he'd spoken too soon.

"Greetings," said a small floating orb in a cheery mechanical voice. It was a bit bigger than a volleyball, had a bright glowing green circle in the center of its body, which apparently served as its "eye," and it seemed to be floating by no apparent means. "I am 049 Futile Atonement. I am dreadfully sorry for the delay, but it seems that's superfluous as you have found _us_, Reclaimer."

"Tell me you're getting this, Holmes, because I have no idea what the hell it's talking about," Jayson whispered into his radio.

"I've got it, I've got it," Holmes said. "Talk to it."

"Er…yeah," Commander Thomas said to the orb. "Yeah, it's good to be here…I guess. Are there any more of you?"

The orb ignored his question and floated up to see the others. "Ah, excellent!" it yelled back to Jayson. "You brought fellow passengers! But wait," it sounded doubtful, and it floated back down to see eye to…orb…with Jayson, "I was under the impression there were more of you coming."

Commander Thomas had a look on his face that clearly said _Say WHAT? _but went along with it. "Yeah…there are. They're back at—"

"Earth?" the orb asked to everyone's surprise, and Jayson, who had been meaning to say "the ship," nodded hesitantly. "Oh, excellent! Very excellent! We will just continue on our way and follow protocol then. I am _terribly _sorry for the delay once again, Reclaimer, but we've had some technical difficulties with the subroutines of the…" its voice trailed off and it started mumbling to itself.

"Delay?" Commander Thomas asked loudly, bringing the orb back to reality. "What delay? How long have you been delayed?"

The orb somehow managed to get a look of surprise off without the aid of facial muscles. "Has it been so long that you've lost count, Reclaimer? I understand. We are _dreadfully _late, but there have been—"

"Problems, I get it," Commander Thomas said quickly. "Just how late are you?"

049 Futile Atonement thought about it for a moment. "One hundred and one thousand two hundred seventeen years," it said. "We got lost."

_Scene Transition_

Avis woke and felt three things: heat, pain and death.

It took a few moments after he had regained consciousness for him to realize the heat was coming from several sources. For one there was the hot African sun beating down on him, glistening off the beads of sweat his body created. Then there was the smell of smoke, which told him a fire was nearby, and then he heard it crackling. Finally he realized there was a cut in his cheek and hot blood was rolling down his face, which only added to the fact he felt like he was in a sauna.

The realization he had a cut made him become even more aware of the pain surging through his body. Both his legs felt like they were on fire, there was the obvious gash in his cheek, he had a massive headache—he noticed his helmet was missing—and he soon became aware of several smaller, though still painful, cuts and bruises all over his body. What was worst, however, was the immensely heavy pressure on his chest that felt like it was pushing his ribs into his lungs. He opened his eyes, and saw to his despair that they were two bodies—two of his men—laying over him.

Avis coughed as he moved the corpses off of his chest, and he recognized them as Privates Islin and Yarrow, two of the older soldiers. He bent over them and folded their arms across their chests, closing Yarrow's eyes—Islin's were already closed—and taking their dog tags from around their necks and stuffing them in a pocket, with the trepidation that they wouldn't be the last he had to do this with.

The fire Avis had sensed was just a few yards to his left, caused by one of the Pelican's wings as the fuel tank inside fueled the flames. The rest of the wreck had landed on its side at a forty five degree angle about fifty yards away, so that the side no longer with a wing was the only one that was touching the ground. The dropship was obviously irreparable, but Avis was hardly concerned about that at the moment.

That was because he saw the bodies.

His entire platoon was scattered about on the desert hardpan, covering an area that he guessed was around fifty square yards. Some were laid one of over the other, but most were by themselves, many easily identifiable as dead with obvious signs of trauma to vital areas like the chest or head. Thankfully there was hope among the carnage; several of his men were sitting up, shaking their heads to clear them, and Sergeant Feinst was already up and about, checking on men—taking dog tags from some—and scanning the skies for enemies, only a small pistol in his hand to defend with.

Avis's joints ached, but that didn't stop him from assisting Sergeant Feinst in checking on the men. By unconscious consent they began to organize the lost ones into rows, making sure to collect dog tags and pose them so they appeared peaceful, in some cases removing the large pieces of shrapnel that had done them in. When all pulses had been checked Avis counted four rows of four; sixteen men lost, nearly half his platoon. All in one sweep.

His DI during Basic Training had once told him that there was a difference between lives spent and lives wasted, but when Avis had asked for clarification on what he meant, he didn't answer. Now, with all these lives lost, Avis had to wonder: had these lives been spent, or wasted?

"Sir." Feinst's voice was stiff but forced, and Avis knew he was trying his best to hold back his grief. "Orders?"

Avis stared down at the bodies, down at the faces of black, white, grime-colored and everything in between. As CO he couldn't weep like he wanted to, show how sorry he was this had to happen to them, but silently, in his mind, he said good bye. "Bury them," he said. "Bury them like they deserve." Immediately everyone grabbed a trowel from their bandoliers and started hacking away at the earth.

Avis's helmet was nowhere to be found, so he took out an olive drab ball cap from where it was folded in a small compartment and slapped it on his head. He glanced to the crashed Pelican and saw Hocus and her flight crew inspecting it, as they were wont to do. Based on what he saw it seemed Hocus had broken her leg and her copilot and crew chief had been heavily cut by glass. "Doc," he called back without looking toward the burial detail, and a second later one of his soldiers was at his side, a heavy pack over one shoulder. "Sir?"

"Start treating injuries. I think the flight crew is the worst off. Can you do that?"  
"In my sleep sir."

"Then get to it."

As he watched Doc walk off, he noticed Arawn's processor-matrix tube a few feet away, dented and scarred but appearing otherwise unharmed. The second he slipped the strap over his shoulder the AI spoke. "It's about time. Do you realize everyone has been out for nearly three hours?"

"Can you blame us?" Avis asked.

"No," Arawn replied. "Do you want a sit rep, or would you like to take your aspirin first?"

"I'm fine," Avis growled back. "A sit rep would be great."

"Excellent. Turn around. That's all the sit rep you need."

Avis turned and stared in wonder at what he was looking at: the largest crater he had ever seen. Its diameter was unfathomable; at least eighty miles. Everything in the blast radius had simply been blown away, and it was no wonder their Pelican had been forced to the ground. The fact that the edge of the crater was just a couple hundred yards away from where he was standing meant, quite simply, that had been one hell of a blast.

"It was one hell of a blast," Arawn observed dryly. "Slipspace jumps were never meant to happen _inside _a planet's atmosphere. If my scans are right, the resulting rip in the finer dimensions of space caused catastrophic molecular failure down to even the subatomic level, disrupting the natural covalent and ionic bonds in an immensely forceful way."

"Simple terms, please?"

Arawn sighed. "It blew lots of shit straight to hell."

"Now was that so hard?"

Arawn didn't answer. "Obviously New Mombasa is gone, as is the Prophet of Regret and pretty much all of our ground forces in the area. Thankfully it happened when it did; another five minutes and the next wave would've been in the blast radius…and we would have been close enough to have been killed as well." Arawn paused briefly. "How are the men doing Staff Sergeant?"

"We're all coping," Avis said honestly. "It's not easy but we're dealing. Do we know if the Spartan, the Master Chief, was killed in the blast?"

"As a matter of fact, we do. Based on satellite imagery of Regret's ship right as it jumped, I saw one ship, _In Amber Clad, _enter the cruiser's Slipspace field, jumping _with _it. Latest radio chatter indicates the Master Chief boarded _In Amber Clad _immediately before the incident. Therefore, I can say with reasonable certainty that the Master Chief is still alive, in pursuit of the Prophet of Regret."

Avis nodded, though Arawn obviously couldn't see him do that. "What are the Covenant doing?"

"Thought you'd never ask. Many of their ships have started to get through the Lunar perimeter and descend into the atmosphere. For awhile now they've been gathering around the crater, sending out search and scavenger parties and such. They haven't gone near here yet, but it's only a matter of time Avis."

"Well, with any luck we can scavenge the Pelican, see if she's still flyable," Avis said, staring at the craft. "If we have the time—"

"We don't," interrupted Arawn. "Turns out I was right. There's chatter on the Covenant battlenet. They're coming. At least three Phantoms inbound. No more than five minutes."

_Damn, _Avis thought. He turned to his men. "We've got incoming dropships! I want five men under the Pelican, the rest in various houses. They're going to be looking for survivors, so don't fire until I give the word!" Without another word the men jumped to their duties.

"Voi's citizens, Avis," Arawn reminded him. "Are we just going to leave them to slaughter?"

"We'll protect who we can," Avis said as he humped it over to one of the houses, which appeared to have been constructed out of some soft stone. "That's all we can do right now. Everyone else…will just have to know to keep their heads down." It hurt to say that, but he wasn't in a position to choose his battles at the moment. They needed to get through the day.

Just as Avis was collecting a sniper rifle from where it had fallen on the ground, he heard the deep _thrum _he had come to associate with a Phantom's propulsion engines. He scanned the skies, but saw nothing against the clear blue hue, and then he had a thought, which if right meant there was only one way he'd be able to hide in time. Without another thought to it he ran to the edge of the massive crater and jumped.

A second later the Phantoms appeared over the crater's edge their U-shaped frames maneuvering expertly through the air as they slowly passed over every house in Voi, scanning for signs of life. Unbeknownst to the Covenant aboard, the lead ship carried one very surprised and grateful marine Staff Sergeant clinging to life by grasping the two aerodynamic fins.

"Effective," Arawn noted. "If a bit crass."

"Shut up," Avis told him.

The Phantoms circled the town diligently, and Avis wondered if they had sensors that could detect heat. A lone woman dashed from her home and ran across the street screaming. One hot bolt of plasma from a Phantom later and she lay smoking in the middle of the dirt road, silenced.

"Where are you sir?" Feinst asked over the COM.

"Safe," Avis lied. "I'm going to take out one of the Phantoms. When it explodes take the others down."

"Yes sir," Feinst said, then added after a momentary pause, "Sir, take them down with what?"

_Good question. _Avis turned the COM off.

Grabbing a winch from a pocket, Avis activated its electromagnetic grip to keep it attached to the alien metal, which thankfully was magnetic. He attached the other end to a belt loop, squared his feet against the Phantom's side, and rappelled.

"Okay," Arawn said, "now you're _really _being crass."

"But effective," Avis replied.

The Phantom, still moving, caused Avis to sway like a pendulum until he caught his foot in a groove. His target was the platform that extended from either side of the dropship, but what he really wanted to do was get inside via the paneled wall that had slits in it so troops could fire without exposing themselves. Testing it with his boot he found it to be quite rickety, and with a final mental effort he kicked it down so it collided with the platform with a _slam._

Hearing snarls and chirps from the variety of creatures inside, Avis quickly lobbed two grenades in, hearing two loud _booms _muffled only by the Phantom's engines. With that he descended the last few feet, boots barely touching the outer platform before bringing his rifle to bear and fire a burst at the last Elite alive, watching its corpse fall to the ground.

However, not everything had gone to plan. He'd expected his grenades to take out the pilot as well and send the dropship crashing into the ground. Instead two round black scuff marks decorated the floor, and the stunned pilot just turned to look as Avis switched to the sniper rifle and put a round straight through its angled head.

"Put me in the computer!" Arawn yelled.

"What?" Avis replied back thickly.

"There's a cable attached to the processor-matrix tube. Plug it into the hatch above the third port on the right. Quickly!"

It took Avis another second to find the cable, pull it and stick it into the port Arawn described, during which the dropship careened wildly toward the ground. But as soon as Arawn was connected to the system he took control and pulled the Phantom back into the air.

"Is this compatible?" Avis asked, admiring how the jack fit into the Covenant hardware almost perfectly.

"Obviously, otherwise we'd be dead," Arawn answered. "The jack is made of a moldable semi-solid. It _makes _itself compatible."

"Oh. Cool."

Suddenly remembering his platoon, Avis turned on his COM again and was about to give the order to fire when Arawn let loose with the Phantom's considerable arsenal. Seconds later the two burning wrecks were spiraling back into the crater from whence they came.

"Park this thing, would you?" Avis asked, and the Phantom came to rest in the center of Voi. "Hop in!" Avis called over the COM as Arawn released the other hatch so the team could climb aboard. "If the Covenant didn't catch that little act by now, it won't be long before they do!" Within seconds his men were sitting uncomfortably in the seats—they hadn't been designed for a human backbone—and the Phantom was airborne, retreating to what appeared to be some mountains off in the distance.

Hocus ripped off her helmet and tossed it to the floor, leaning outside as she watched the dropship fly away from her own. "She was still flyable," the pilot said to no one in particular. "My bird is still alive. We could've saved her. We could've—" She stopped, beat her fist against the Phantom's hull, and walked back to her seat. "We'll get her back," she finished.

When Avis thought about it, a lot things they all cared about rested in Voi: her Pelican, his men, the only things that really meant anything to them anymore. They'd been hurt here, been hit hard, but they'd come out of it swinging, and Avis intended it to keep it that way.

An hour later they were all resting in a cool, damp cave, big enough that Arawn had been able to land the Phantom in the back where it wouldn't disturb anyone. They were all sitting on rocks that jutted out of the walls, and Avis was glad to see any injuries they had were superficial; Soda had even fallen asleep.

"So what now?" Haverson asked, pouring the contents of his canteen over his head before finishing it off with a swig.

Arawn had been connected to Avis's holopad and was "pacing" across the dirt floor, hands behind his back and shirt looking more disheveled than ever before. He coughed again, his hologram flickering. "My original plan was to go after the Prophet of Regret, as he would have the information I need to put together the puzzle pieces I already have. However, since he's gone, we need to do something else."

"Can't you just hack in and get the information you need, like you do with the battlenet?" Avis asked.

Arawn turned to look at him, and for a second Avis thought he saw another Arawn there, like a shadow of the original. Then it was gone. "The battlenet is a low-level encryption," the AI explained. "Only a few million layers. The information I want is exclusively on the Prophets' own internal communication, which consists of more than a googolplex of layers of encryption, each layer consisting of thousands of prime numbers that go out to one times ten to the fifty-fourth power, if you're lucky. In short, there are more numbers to decode then there are electrons in the universe, in _one _line of text."

A couple of the younger marines looked confused at this point, so Avis wrote out the significant numbers in scientific notation using a stick in the dirt. When they finally understood the implications, they each let loose a low whistle. "So…we're stuck?" Feinst asked, just returning from lookout duty at the mouth of the cave.

"No," Arawn said. "I was designed to break encryption, so I can do it, and damn quick. But I need a direct contact to the network to do make it happen. Otherwise it'll take five months to decipher one text line. The good news is that once I'm in I should be able to copy the decryption algorithms, and thus be able to do it anytime I want."

Arawn had been smart in ending it with good news, but Avis hadn't missed what he had been getting at. "Your plan now…is to break into a Covenant facility….get you into the mainframe, get what you need, and then get out?"

"In a manner of speaking," Arawn said. "There's only one type of Covenant facility guaranteed to have all the information I need."

"Oh, really?" Haverson asked. "And which one is that?"

Arawn sputtered and vanished, in his place a seven-turreted behemoth. "The Covenant flagship currently in orbit somewhere above Antarctica," he explained calmly.

_Scene Transition_

"Arawn."

The AI warmed his processors and sputtered to life, hologram flickering as it sprung from the holopad like Athena from the head of Zeus. It wasn't the eyes on his avatar that saw, but the sensors all over the processor-matrix tube, which sent out low frequency sound waves, like the echolocation that bats used. Using them, he knew Staff Sergeant Hughie was crouched beside the holopad, that they were just outside the cave mouth, and that night had fallen. The blue-white light from the holopad shined on Avis's face and gave him a sunken, haunting look.

"What is it?" Arawn manipulated the pitch and tone in his speech algorithms to sound tired, though that was one human weakness AIs never had to deal with.

"That's what I wanted to ask you." Avis's face somehow suddenly appeared more sunken. "I'm not an idiot, Arawn. I know something's up. Outlaw or not, you would've found a way to get information to FLEETCOM in a way that ensured they would use it. You're smart enough for that. I want to know what you're doing. Half of my platoon—sixteen men that trusted me to get them through the war alive—died today. I want to know what you're up to, because if any of the sixteen I have left die without knowing why, it will be the end of you."

Arawn would've "sighed," but his system fluxed and surged again, resulting in his avatar coughing heavily. "Alright. I'm dying Staff Sergeant." He said this as nonchalantly as if he was talking about the weather. "About a month ago an ONI antivirus caught me off guard in a server outside a Marrakesh internet café. Had it been the normal slugcode I may have been able to shake it off, but it used some sort of new…rapidly mutating fragment algorithm. My code's been ripping itself to pieces ever since; I suppose you could call it the AI equivalent to cancer. I've been working on a program to slow it down ever since, but that's all I can do: slow it down. It's only in nonessential periphery systems now, but it won't be long before I'm gone. Just random segments of code floating in the electronic ethers."

Avis hadn't known that, hadn't even suspected it. "How long do you have?"

Arawn shrugged. "Hopefully long enough to see this through. After I get the information from the ship I'll be more of a commodity than a necessity. But I'll see you through until my end. I'm not running."

Avis nodded. "But what does that have to do with why you want to help us?"

Arawn smiled. "That, my dear Staff Sergeant, is a secret I take to my grave."


	5. Assault on the Sacrosanct Entity

**0511 Hours, 25 October, 2552**

**Hijacked Covenant Phantom**

**Inbound to carrier **_**Sacrosanct Entity**_

Avis knew that what they were about to do was borderline suicide, that everything depended on split second timing and the fact that this had only been accomplished once before, and by no less than the Master Chief himself. Still, he had to admit, the way Arawn put it, and the way he had designed the plan, made him think that, just maybe, they could get away with it.

The Phantom moved swiftly across the Antarctic skyline; Arawn piloted the craft so nimbly that it seemed to slip between the few beams of sunlight there were, rocking gently back and forth on air currents to relax some of the already tired men back to sleep. The entire platoon had been forced to get up after just an hour or two of sleep on the rocks in the cave back in Africa, so that the Phantom could make a large loop before integrating itself back into the Covenant traffic without arousing suspicion as it traveled across the planet. It was the only sleep any of them had gotten since the Covenant invasion had begun, but time was of the essence…especially with Arawn's condition.

The AI hid the fact he was slowly being ripped apart at the algorithms well; Avis was relatively sure no one else suspected a thing. Now that he knew, Avis could trust the AI a little more, understand where he was coming from. It still irked him Arawn wouldn't reveal why he had insisted on human help, but Avis couldn't complain. The choice, after all, had saved the lives of half his men.

"Ten minutes to dirt," Arawn said over the COM, and Avis thought he detected a slight warble in his speech, but that might have been paranoia from the lack of sleep. "Congratulations First Platoon; the fact that we've made it this far means our ruse worked."

Arawn had masked the electronic ID of their dropship so that it would appear as if it had come from the _Sacrosanct Entity, _and wasn't the Phantom they had captured a day before. Not good enough to fool the Covenant indefinitely, but apparently it was enough for the Phantom to slip in, raise eight kinds of hell, and get out.

"Rouse 'em," Avis said to Sergeant Feinst, and the man slowly worked around, slapping every man that had fallen asleep on the back of the head so they woke up with a start. "Listen up!" Feinst yelled. "I realize you may have forgotten somewhere between Boot and Dreamland, but the UNSC invested about half a million dollars in each and every one of you when it comes down to it. So do the taxpayers a favor and give them their money's worth by remembering the plan, shooting where everyone else is, and not dying. Because they stick me with the bill and I'm working off alimony as it is. Now lock it up!"

In truth Avis always had a laugh when Feinst tried to act like a hard-ass marine, because it made him think of old men with twenty years of combat under their belts, instead of Feinst with his boyish face and sprite-like nature. The men, on the other hand, had no idea, and were terrified of the sergeant's wrath enough to jump to where they were supposed to be without another word.

Avis secured the ODST helmet around his head. On their way to _Sacrosanct Entity _they had spotted a squad of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers pinned down by a contingent of Covenant forces as they were leaving Africa. Despite Arawn's protests stemming from his desire to complete their mission, Avis had ordered him to set down so his men could sneak in and take them out without compromising the Phantom. It had worked, and Avis had taken one of the sealed ODST helmets from its now deceased owner to replace the one he had lost at Voi.

But that's not all he had taken.

"Anything on it special?" he asked Haverson, marveling at how the helmet's COM was able to make it seem like he was whispering directly in the man's ear.

"No sir," Haverson replied, fingers tapping various holographic keys on the datapad they had scavenged. "Wait…I spoke too soon. This may interest you sir: the casualty reports from what they're calling "The Slipspace Incident at New Mombasa."

"We know the figures; Arawn looked into it. Seventeen thousand dead or wounded, Covenant casualties undetermined."

"Yes sir, but I've got all the names that were KIA too, and…well…we're on it."

Everyone turned to look at Haverson, and then to Avis, shivering either because of the news or the fact that the Phantom hadn't completely kept out the Antarctic chill. He removed his helmet and motioned for the datapad, which Haverson handed over thoughtfully. After a quick second Avis saw it for himself: about a quarter of the way down the list it read **First Platoon, Bravo Company, Fifth Army: 100 KIA,** followed by all of their names. Avis stared at his name, looked at the word 'KIA' just to the right of 'Hughie' and didn't know what to think.

"So…I guess we're dead," he finally said, and a certain dulled laughter filled the Phantom. Strangely his eyes found Hocus, the lone woman among all the men, and she lifted a corner of her lip in a grin. Avis had the feeling being a dead person was of great amusement to her.

"Five to dirt," Arawn said, and his voice snapped everyone back to reality and they got positioned. Avis sealed the helmet once again and opened a private channel to Arawn. "You're sure this will work? I really don't want to lose any more of my men today."

"Positive," Arawn said. "We'll never even have to leave the hangar."

Avis thought he heard that warble again, but it didn't sound like Arawn was degrading. It sounded like he was lying.

_Scene Transition_

Piloting the Phantom took only an infinitesimal percentage of Arawn's vast processing power, which was why AIs often got extremely bored: there was so much they could do without even thinking about it. So Arawn had spent the long flight checking and rechecking a million times a second the number of things he had to do when he was in the alien system. His main concern was the Covenant AI; as the leading ship in the system, _Sacrosanct Entity _was bound to have one, and in his weakened condition he'd prefer avoiding a direct fight. Arawn wasn't going to lie to himself; there was a good chance his final resting place would be the system he was about to enter, about a sixty-eight point nine percent chance, actually. Which is why he'd decided to entertain himself with Arawns Pro and Con again. Just in case.

"You should tell him," ArawnPro said for the umpteenth time. "You should tell the Staff Sergeant what you're planning to do, and what you suspect you're going to find in those communiqués. He knows something is amiss, and you're going to need him to trust you."

"Trust him?" ArawnCon replied scathingly. "Trust him? Of course the man trusts him. If he didn't he wouldn't have agreed, would he? He wouldn't have risked what's left of his platoon. Hughie's a good soldier, but he's not command material. He's unwilling to risk his men. Hell, he'd probably hold their hands into combat if he had enough arms for everyone."

"You know what's going to happen when you're gone," ArawnPro said. "You know what needs to be done, and you know that Avis is going to have to do it. If he feels you can't trust him

with the truth he won't go through with it."

"Of course he will!" ArawnCon yelled. "It's not his life he's worried about, but everyone else's! He knows the values of duty and self sacrifice if need be. And besides, mi amigo, we

_don't _know what's going to happen. We _can't _know until we get the communiqués translated."

ArawnPro huffed in irritation. "The communiqués are to prove a theory. It's mathematically possible that we've already guessed everything, which we should reveal so these men know what they're dealing with!"

"Oh, so now it's not just Staff Sergeant Hughie we're worried about, but the entire platoon. Don't bring matemáticas into this, because you'll lose."

"Cállate."

"Tú madre."

"Okay, guys," Arawn said. "Let's just take a deep breath and—wait, are you speaking Spanish?"

"Sí," both Pro and Con replied simultaneously. "I mean…yes."

Arawn ran a diagnostic. "Crap."

"What?"

"It's starting to get to the periphery of the language subroutines."

Arawn wiped Pro and Con, marked the error for his internal log, ran a few more projections, and saved the data before refocusing and getting ready to work. _Sacrosanct Entity _was getting closer and closer, and just as he pictured the dropship approaching the massive carrier, he imagined destructive algorithms, creeping closer and closer to his core-logic.

In two ways, he was getting closer and closer to death.

_Scene Transition_

"They're pinging us," Arawn reported to the marines. "Giving them the required response code now."

"You have the required response code?" Avis asked.

"Each code is unique to every dropship, cargo loader, or fighter that enters and leave a unique Covenant ship," Arawn explained as the hatch to one of _Sacrosanct Entity's _hangar bays opened. "Since I faked the computer into thinking the carrier had an additional dropship, I was able to make up the code myself and plant it in the system."

Avis had a feeling only Haverson was fully appreciating the impressiveness of the feat, because he asked "Oh God, what did you put?"

"The Covenant lingual equivalent of 'you're all assholes' " Arawn said cheerfully. "By the time anyone but a computer reads it we'll be halfway home."

Everyone laughed, Avis included. Who said fighting to stave off the extinction of your species couldn't be fun?

"Alright, here we go," the AI said. "Everyone ready?"

The platoon answered in the affirmative by pounding on the sides of the Phantom once.

"Good enough for me," Arawn said. "Welcome to the _Sacrosanct Entity._"

The Phantom glided in without incident, and through the slits on the sides Avis could see numerous Grunts, Jackals and Elites moving about, none of which seemed like they suspected anything was wrong. Just as the dropship's engines were powering down he spied Soda, who was attempting to tighten the rope around his waist. Avis walked over and finished the knot. "Thank you sir," the young marine said nervously.

Avis nodded. "You ready Soda?"

Soda glanced out the slit he was standing next to. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said, a bit more confidently. He slammed the clip into the sniper rifle Avis had lent him. "I know my job sir, and I'll get it done. So long as I have this," he patted the rifle, "and this." He smacked his helmet. "No matter how hard the Covenant try to shoot it off." He smiled.

Avis smiled back. "Good man. You know where to fire first, right?"

"Arawn marked it for me." He pointed to the scope. "It'll light up like a Christmas tree through here."

"Then you do that Private," Avis said before moving to the center of the dropship, where Feinst was. The Sergeant had nothing but a pistol in his hand. Avis gave him an inquiring look. "We were a rifle short," he said. "And I'm a better shot with this anyway."

Nodding, Avis handed him his own pistol. "An Elite comes at you, you'll need it," he said, practically shoving the weapon into Feinst's hand. "Twice the punch…"

"Twice the knockout," Feinst finished. "Stay frosty out there sir."

Avis got on knee, shouldered the rifle, and aimed it at the hatch, giving him a field of fire as soon as it lowered. "Don't worry," he said. "I will."

"Here we go!" Arawn yelled, lowering both hatches as he did.

The marines descended, things exploded, and all hell broke loose.

_Scene Transition_

"…so marvelous to have you here Reclaimer, and finding us after all this time while we were looking for you—remarkable. I can only imagine how tedious the wait has been, and once again I am so _very _sorry for the delay, but I can make it up to you!"

"You can start by shutting up," Commander Thomas muttered under his breath.

049 Futile Atonement hadn't stopped talking in all the time it had taken to pull Commander Thomas off the pipe and back into the hallway, bring Admiral Harper and the senior officers from the _Radcliffe _aboard, and walk forty minutes to the hallway they were currently in. At the moment he was hovering about ten feet over the humans, accompanied by two other floating metal beings that, unlike 049 Futile Atonement, were almost triangular in shape and—thank heavens—hadn't uttered a word.

"Yes," 049 Futile Atonement continued, "as soon as we get to Earth and make sure all passengers are secured we will begin the final trip and I promise that we'll do everything possible to make it comfortable and—"

"I don't know about you guys," Lieutenant Commander Clemons said quietly, "but I think taking an unknown, possibly hostile alien craft to Earth is a _bad _idea."

"Well put Commander," Admiral Harper whispered back. "Cole Protocol is fuzzy on this, as it only applies to 'hostile alien forces' which at the time we thought was just the Covenant. However, in light of the fact we have no idea if anything on this ship _is _hostile, it's better to air on the side of caution. Until we know of their intentions, we assume hostile intent."

"Which is why I asked Futile Atonement to give us an orientation of the plan, sir," Commander Thomas interjected. "It doesn't seem like it's capable of lying."

"No, it just seems crazy," Commander Clemons muttered as 049 Futile Atonement began humming to itself.

The entire group—by now consisting of at least fifty men and women—shook and stumbled as another energy spike ripped around, this time sending everyone careening toward the left wall. Commander Thomas had to spin on his heel to avoid slamming into Admiral Harper, smashing the wall on his already injured shoulder and causing something to snap. With a loud yell he slumped against the wall, one of the men checking his shoulder immediately.

"What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?" Jayson hissed through clenched teeth, pausing with every wave of pain that emanated from his shoulder. A fresh and more powerful wave spiked through his body as the officer strapped a portable x-ray machine to his upper arm. "Damn, ow!"

"Yes, they do seem to be getting more frequent, don't they?" 049 Futile Atonement said a tad dejectedly, appearing without warning next to Jayson's head. One of the accompanying machines flew down and faced the orb, clicks and whirs suddenly coming from somewhere on its body. 049 Futile Atonement replied in a similar manner, at which point the machine clicked and whirred with renewed vigor. "Just do it!" 049 Futile Atonement shouted at last, and the machine hovered off through what looked like a vent near the ceiling.

"Sentinels," 049 Futile Atonement said. "Stubborn programming. Anyway," he suddenly returned to his usual cheery mood, "do you require medical assistance, Reclaimer?"

"Your shoulder bone is cracked," the officer concluded. "A part of it has shifted slightly and is putting pressure on nerves and muscle tissue. It's easily fixed, but the supplies are back on the _Radcliffe._"

"Fine. When we're done here," Jayson said stubbornly.

"Son," Admiral Harper started, "it'd probably be better to get it repaired quick—"

"With all due respect Admiral," Commander Thomas calmly interrupted, "I was here when this started. I'd like to see it through, at least until we…" he glanced up at 049 Futile Atonement, "know."

After a moment's pause, Admiral Harper nodded and said to 049 Futile Atonement "Can we continue?"

"Certainly!" the floating orb said cheerfully. A moment later it started humming again as it led the way, turning abruptly through a passageway that revealed itself behind a panel that slid open. Commander Thomas had barely taken two steps when a pair of the Sentinels appeared, one suddenly injecting a thick paste into his shoulder while the other tied a sling around his arm and neck. He had wanted to jump away, but the sudden relief he felt stopped him, and he knew, somehow, that he was well on his way to being healed.

Ten minutes later the group turned a corner and walked down a narrow stretch of corridor, where at least two hundred Sentinels hovered, apparently scanning for some sort of perceived threat. At the end of the corridor was a door so large it reached up to the ceiling, towering over the group like some sort of gate. 049 Futile Atonement floated up to the very top, fired a quick burst of green energy from its eye of similar color into some sort of mechanism, and immediately loud _thumps _sounded, indicating very large, very powerful locks were being released to allow everyone present access.

As soon as the door opened even a crack several large shapes that moved so fast they appeared to be no more than large brown masses came flying out of every direction, sending the Sentinels haywire. They began firing beams of energy at the masses, which prompted the marines present to shoot the beings as well.

"In here, quickly!" 049 Futile Atonement yelled before floating behind the door, and the humans didn't waste time asking why. Jayson was the last one through, and when he turned to look just before the door closed he saw one of the organisms jump on a Sentinel and send it crashing to the ground just before being burned and joining the other masses that lay immobile on the cold, symbol-decorated floor.

Only after the adrenaline had settled could Jayson appreciate the magnificence of the room he had entered; the ceiling itself was at least twice as tall as anywhere else they had visited. It took them a minute to realize it, but they were standing on a transparent platform that extended out over a chasm with no seeable bottom. About a hundred yards away—in the middle of the room—the platform culminated in a control panel and three holographic displays. The ones on the left and right were relatively small twins and shifted between images of the ship. The middle one, however, was massive—it extended above and below the platform considerably—and depicted the entire city they had seen earlier. Even for a holographic display, it was incredibly detailed.

That was all Commander Thomas got to see before Admiral Harper started yelling.

"Alright you!" he shouted at 049 Futile Atonement, emphasizing it by pointing an accusatory finger at the orb, "I want to know what the hell is going on, _right now, _or so help me God I will order my ship to destroy this scrap heap!"

"Unnecessary," 049 Futile Atonement answered nonchalantly. "Protocol dictates destruction of this installation is only necessary when containment has failed and breach of the Control Room is imminent. As you just witnessed we are perfectly safe in here." Commander Thomas was pretty sure that, if 049 Futile Atonement had a face, he would've been smiling way too widely.

"Yeah, great," Harper shot back. "But that still doesn't explain anything. For starters, what the hell just attacked us?"

Again 049 Futile Atonement managed to appear surprised. "Why the Flood, of course." He began to float toward the holographic displays; the humans followed. "I am terribly sorry, but despite my creators' best efforts a small contamination managed to board just before departure and has been harassing us ever since despite our best containment efforts. I assure you however that the damage has been minimal: only a few minor systems have been damaged, and the Interior Dome has never been close to infected."

"Why is it I never understand what the hell he's talking about?" Jayson asked no one in particular.

"A hundred thousand years around here talking to chirping machines and you'd be crazy too," Admiral Harper answered dryly. "Anyone here who _does _know what he's talking about?"

"I think I'm getting there, Admiral," Holmes whispered over the COM. "I can't do a thing hiding from that AI though. Hold on." A second later he whispered "That's better. I went back to the _Radcliffe _and broadcast myself into Commander Thomas's datapad from there. If you would be so kind as to connect me to the terminal, Commander, I think I can put the pieces together."

049 Futile Atonement was still talking. "…can imagine our embarrassment at the situation. The Flood on this ship, when we're supposed to be getting you…an artificial construct?" He had noticed Commander Thomas connecting the datapad to the terminal. He nodded. "Reclaimer I thought you would know better? Protocol forbids the use of any outside intel—"

Holmes came to life, holographic avatar growing to larger than he had ever been before. "I'm not in the network," the AI said reassuringly. "Just the archives."

"The archives!" 049 Futile Atonement exclaimed. "I _must _protest! Protocol strictly forbids it! After the last breach we cannot risk—"

"Alright, alright," Holmes said, winking right before disappearing into the datapad again. "Fricking crybaby."

While 049 Futile Atonement floated form here to there, Holmes spoke to the crew through the COM set. "I didn't get as much as I thought I would; I guess the archives have been damaged as well. Let's see…the Forerunners built this place, what they called a 'fortressed transport' to ensure the survival of all 'Reclaimers' should contamination reach critical levels. Scrolling…protocol, protocol, blah blah blah. Ah, here we go. 'Odd signals emanating from sublevel 4197 Alpha…investigation reveals Flood breach of _Construct Four_—guess that's the name of the ship; original, right?—containment process initiated…Flood inadvertently sabotaged junction E-993234. Navigation—' "

"Sorry," Admiral Harper interrupted, "but what _are _Flood?"

"Long story short something very nasty," Holmes answered. "A parasitic xenoform that overrides a host's central nervous system, digs into their chest cavity, and essentially uses them like a puppet to accomplish the goal of making more of these 'combat forms.' "

"Charming," Lieutenant Commander Clemons said.

"Quite," Holmes agreed. "Anyway…'Navigation systems damaged; Earth location now unknown. Initializing search of likely star systems. Flood party contained; signs they are breeding located; search continues. Junction K-583938 damaged; gravity systems experiencing minor malfunctions throughout _Construct Four_…Flood attacked Control Center. Damage minimal, appears AI corrupted. AI has been isolated and is not a threat, however this slows down our search for Earth. Time to search all known galactic star systems: one point nine five four seven one times ten to the fifth power years…' " Holmes stopped there. "That's all the exciting news Admiral."

"So…let me see if I have this right," Harper said. "For some reason the 'Forerunners' built this ship and told it to go to Earth. But the Flood got aboard—which I gather is a bad thing—caused some damage, and for more than a hundred thousand years they've been trying to find Earth while playing a cat-and-mouse game with said Flood. Am I right?"

Holmes paused for a fraction of a second to check his facts. "That appears to be the gist of it sir, yes."

"And we have no idea _why _these Forerunners wanted to send the ship to Earth?"

"Something to do with saving all 'Reclaimers'. Though as to what makes a Reclaimer I have no idea. Commander Thomas is the only one here that has been labeled with that title thus far."

Admiral Harper stiffened. "Well we are _not _taking this thing to Earth, that's for certain. Not while the Flood are still here, at least."

"We could gather some men," Lieutenant Hiryu said. "Work with the Sentinels to wipe them out."

"Even so," Commander Willis piped up, "Cole Protocol specifically forbids bringing an alien ship into a human system."

"The Cole Protocol was designed to keep the Covenant from finding yet to be discovered human worlds," countered Lieutenant Hiryu. "I think that point is long moot, or did I imagine the huge Covenant fleet attacking Earth?"

"Enough," Harper said. The memory of being duped into attacking still stung him. "If we knew what _Construct Four _was supposed to do when it arrived at Earth, we could go from there. But since Holmes can't access the system without that thing having a fit…"

"Why don't we just ask it?" Commander Thomas suggested. "I think it assumes we're all on the same side, even if it turns out we're not. I mean, it can't hurt, right?" No one moved or said anything, but Admiral Harper gave a reluctant nod, which made everything clear: _Fine. You_ _do it._

Commander Thomas watched 049 Futile Atonement float about babbling for a few seconds before shouting "Excuse me," to get its attention. It descended to his eye level, green orb not a foot from his face, and said "Yes, Reclaimer?"

"Um…" Jayson started, "Well…when we get to Earth, what do you plan to do?"

"Forgotten, have you?" 049 Futile Atonement asked rhetorically. "I understand. We were late, very late; it only makes sense. Problem after problem, searching solar system after solar system. It only makes sense we made you impatient and in that impatience you—"

"Forgot. So you said," Jayson said, by now growing as impatient as 049 Futile Atonement had thought he had been for the past one hundred and one thousand two hundred seventeen years. "When you get to Earth, what do you plan to do?"

049 Futile Atonement backed up an inch or two. "What protocol dictates I do," it said. "Destroy it."

_Scene Transition_

Things started out fast, and only got faster.

As soon as Arawn had dropped the sides of the Phantom the shooting had begun. Soda and three others had rappelled down and, suspended by ropes, shot out the four massive fuel tanks that were bolted to the hangar walls with their sniper rifles. That created a sufficient _boom _to allow the rest of the marines to exit the dropship rapidly, and the plan was so effective a good twenty of the Covenant were down before the rest figured out where to start shooting.

The hangar was three levels high and the dropship was level with the second level, allowing enough room for Soda and the others to rappel while the others simply ran off onto solid alien metal. As soon as Feinst was away Avis grabbed Arawn's processor-matrix tube from where it rested near the pilot's seat and followed.

"Hurry!" Arawn yelled over the multiple chatters from assault rifles and whines from their plasma equivalents. "Find me a port and this will be over in seconds!"

"What about the Phantom?" Avis asked, sighting a Grunt with his rifle and putting three rounds cleanly through its neck.

"I wrote a program enabling it to fly itself," Arawn said. "Now if you wouldn't mind?"

"I'm working on it," Avis said. His boots made a sound as they pounded across the corridor that was something between a _thud _and a _clang. _All around he caught snippets of bravado as his men bravely pushed back the aliens.

"Nice shot!"

"I'm runnin' low, man!"

"Take _that! _And some of _that!_"

"Ha you missed! Guess what? I didn't!"

"Grenade, in the hole!"

"Ow, my foot! No, I'm not hit; tripped over the pipe."

"Look out!"

"Crap, _now _I'm hit!"

All in all they were giving a lot worse than they were getting, but already Avis spotted two men on the ground with their armor smoking, and he knew they had just seconds before the Covenant regrouped. If he could just find the damn terminal…

"There!" Arawn shouted in his ear, and a marker appeared on the Heads-Up Display in Avis's ODST helmet. Faster than he thought possible he sprinted for it, jamming the moldable jack into the port with a significant amount of force.

"The doors!" Avis yelled. "Shut the damn doors!"

Arawn was lightning quick in the system. Within a few milliseconds he had accessed the door launch mechanisms, overwritten the failsafe with his own codes, and cut off access to the hangar except from the outside, where they would be escaping. The doors slid together soundlessly, one set catching an unfortunate Elite that had been passing through, slicing him in half as effectively as a guillotine. Then he ordered his program aboard the Phantom to use its weaponry to cut the remaining aliens to pieces. It was over in less than thirty seconds; the hangar belonged to First Platoon.

"Defensive perimeter!" Avis ordered, still standing next to the terminal. "Casualty report!"

"Five wounded, one burned enough to be a bit worrisome," Feinst said over the screams of the pained man. "No KIA, no missing."

Avis nodded, briefly finding religion and thanking God for keeping his men alive before becoming an atheist again. "Load them into the Phantom; we'll be out of here shortly. Right Arawn?"

During the short parlay between Avis and Feinst, Arawn had been found and pursued by the onboard Covenant AI. This was precisely what Arawn had been afraid of, but also what unfortunately had to happen. He maneuvered through subsystems and servers, masquerading as handshake protocols until he arrived at where he wanted to be: the communication relay. By the time his pursuer arrived he had already copied all Prophet communiqués from the past year to his own memory. "Trap is loaded," he whispered to himself.

"I have you" his adversary hissed virulently. Antivirus codes began to trap Arawn in the Covenant system, where he would be systematically ripped apart, all useful data taken, and then erased.

Somewhere in the circuits of _Sacrosanct Entity, _Arawn smiled.

"Trap is sprung," he said. "Yank me Avis."

Avis slipped the processor-matrix tube back over his shoulder, and the alien AI screamed in fury as it realized all he had captured was a copy of Arawn's minor systems. It was like going after the hard drive and getting just the computer clock.

"Too easy," Arawn told Avis. "Let's get out of here…" he paused for a moment, and only a moment. "We need to go. _Now._"  
"What is it?" Avis asked, trepidation growing by the second.

"They've got Seraphs incoming. We need to get out of here."

As soon as Arawn had said 'Seraphs' Avis had started yelling out orders. "Feinst get those men away from the Phantom now! Soda, you and your snipers cut free and run!"

Feinst and Haverson, who had been about to drag the wounded aboard the dropship, suddenly started dragging them the opposite direction. Soda and the other snipers, however, were not so lucky. They had just pulled their knives from their pockets and were going to cut the ropes and fall to the ground when Avis heard the roar of Seraphs. A second later two large bolts of plasma flew through the open hangar doors and impacted into the Phantom. The fireball was instantaneous, severing the snipers' ropes and sending all of them crashing into and rolling across the floor.

"Shit," Avis said simply, just before the screaming started. "Let's get them out of here!

Over the shoulder, hold your rifles by one hand, move it! Arawn," Avis said just to the AI, "tell me you have a way out of here."

"There's a Phantom in the next hangar, but the way this place was designed, it's a bit of a walk," Arawn said as he tapped into the ship's schematic. "You're bound to run into stiff resistance."

"Any way to help us out?"

"We'll see. That AI isn't making things easy. You might be on your own here."

"Just show me the way home." A marker appeared in Avis's HUD.

"This way!" he yelled, scooping up Soda, who had accidentally fallen on his knife and caused it to sink into his leg just above the knee. Doc tossed him a morphine shot, which he injected quickly, the young man loosening up slightly as the painkillers took effect. Holding his rifle with one hand he led the men to the third floor of the hangar, and to his chagrin he saw several Covenant break through the door on the other side of the hangar and began to take potshots at the marines.

"Arawn…" Avis began.

"Open says-a-me," Arawn answered, and the door opened, surprising the Grunts that had been trying to burn through. They were blown off their feet under a hail of 7.62 mm rounds, and First Platoon surged forward, trusting Avis—who was trusting Arawn—to get them to safety.

Based on previous, somewhat successful sorties into Covenant ships, Avis had watched the mission tapes and knew that _Sacrosanct Entity _was built along the lines of all the other Covenant ships, just a lot bigger. The floors were never really flat, but always seemed to be sloping either up or down, always bathed in violet light. No one, not even the top experts at the Office of Naval Intelligence, understood the significance of the color purple to the Covenant, but who knew? Maybe they thought olive drab was for wimps.

Moving as fast as they could First Platoon ran from one corridor to another, nothing but Arawn's scant directions to guide them. Thankfully the AI still had control over the doors, shutting unnecessary ones and opening important ones at just the right moment. Someone had been wise enough to bring the sniper rifles Soda and the others had been using, so any Elites they encountered went down in a shot or two as the high-velocity rounds punctured their shields with ease. The Grunts and Jackals were easy fodder for the assault rifles.

"Alright, take a breather," Avis said weakly after ten minutes, lungs begging for air as they stopped in a four-way intersection. Those who were carrying men took them off and slumped them against the walls, giving them the sniper rifles for cover fire. "Arawn, where the hell is this hangar?"

"I told you it was a bit of a walk," Arawn snapped back. "We're almost there. Just a couple more corridors to go." Then Avis heard the barks of Grunts and Jackals and the deep throated gutturals of Elites not far off and knew another firefight was just seconds away.

Thankfully, the large explosion saved them.

A fireball tore down one of the corridors, blasting the aliens to bits and throwing the marines down two other corridors. Unfortunately, Avis heard the fatal scream that told him one of his men had met the same fate as the Covenant troops.

What's more, the blast had opened a hole in _Sacrosanct Entity, _sending chilly Antarctic winds tearing through the halls. The men had not been equipped with winter gear, which meant any patch of exposed skin suddenly burned as if it were being attacked by a thousand tiny knives.

"Oh, by the way," Arawn said, "there's a blizzard going on outside. Just so you know."

A third by-product of the sudden explosion was that it ripped a deep chasm in the

corridor, effectively separating Avis and Soda from the rest of the platoon. "Sir!" Feinst called from across the chasm, "we'll have you over in a jiffy!"

Glancing out the newly created hole in _Sacrosanct Entity's _hull, Avis saw—in the few seconds he could stand to look without freezing his face off—several Covenant ships closing in on the flagship. "They're getting ready to scuttle her," Arawn informed him. "They don't want another _Ascendant Justice._"

"What?"  
"The flagship the Master Chief took over about a month ago."

"Oh. There's no time!" he called back to Sergeant Feinst. "They're going to destroy the ship!Get to the hangar, get Hocus to pilot the Phantom, and get out! We'll catch up!" _At least, _he thought, _I hope we catch up._

"Wait," Arawn said. "Give him your datapad."

"Why?"

"I copied all the communiqués and translation software to it. If Feinst can get it back to the UNSC, they'll have the information we came for."

Without hesitation Avis tossed the datapad to Feinst and told him what to do with it. "Yes sir," the sergeant responded. He took one last second to salute before leading his men down the pathway, leaving Avis, Arawn and Soda alone.

No words were spoken between the three; a new nav point appeared in Avis's HUD and he grabbed Soda and ran.

Only now that Avis knew of the flagship's imminent destruction did he hear the distant explosions as critical systems were taken out by plasma torpedoes and, in all probability, internal sabotage. This theory was proven as Avis came upon two Elites strapping what appeared to be explosive packs to a conduit. He blew past their surprised looks, snatching one of the packs as he went, Soda covering him by firing over his shoulder and keeping them both alive.

He just kept running, killing anything easily killed and knocking everything else out of the way. One Elite threw a plasma grenade at him, and it detonated so close he could feel his legs blister. Avis tossed his own grenade over his shoulder and didn't stick around to see if it was effective or not; he'd just avoided plasma fire from a Jackal down another corridor and didn't feel like saying hello.

A minute or two later and the nav point indicated he was less than twenty meters from his goal. Elation spurring him on, he rounded the corner…and his stomach dropped out from under him.

Standing between him and the door were a pair of Covenant Hunters.

Twelve feet tall, razor sharp spikes along their backs, and armored with metal impervious to any gunfire, thick shields on one arm and a massive fuel rod cannon on the other, Hunters always traveled in pairs and were essentially walking tanks. Their faces, hidden behind thick armor, turned and saw Avis as he ran toward them, Soda over one arm and Arawn's processor-matrix tube over the other. The fuel rod cannons warmed to a light green, and he knew he had just seconds before they fired.

"You're not good at just walking away from a fight, are you?" Arawn asked.

Instead of answering Avis tossed the explosive pack in front of him, wondering what spark of intelligence had made him pick up the thing anyway. When the pack was directly in front of the Hunters he shot it, creating a fireball that, judging by the way the Hunters reacted, seemed to sting a little. He was too late to stop the Hunters firing, so he dropped to the floor and slid, green bursts skimming so close to his head the metal of his helmet began to melt.

His momentum carried him right past the Hunters and into the door, the inertia throwing Soda forward so he too smacked, though he had the unfortunate happenstance of hitting his head. While he slumped over Avis turned and fired at the Hunters, aiming for the bits of orange flesh that their armor didn't cover. His accuracy was well rewarded; one moment there were two serious threats in front of him, the next two corpses.

A quick examination revealed Soda was fine, but now the young marine was unconscious so Avis stowed his weapon after tossing his now smoking helmet, the second one he'd lost in as many days, down the corridor with the Hunters. For a second he sat slumped against the door next to Soda, but a renewed volley of explosions—these much closer than before—reminded him he needed to leave.

His explosion pack had cracked the doors open, so he snuck his hands into the void and pushed them apart, sparks flying from severed electrical circuits. He'd managed to make it to another hangar, occupied only by a contingency of Grunts that were easily dispatched. Having emerged on the third level he spied a Phantom on the first, and he hobbled toward it, picking up Soda for the third time.

The explosions were getting closer and closer; one blew open another set of doors just as Avis passed it. They were taking out essential systems first, ensuring their destruction and not leaving it to chance. Arawn checked while Avis continued down, and sure enough the Covenant had followed procedure to the letter: computers had been destroyed, onboard AI transferred to another ship to save important data.

"They're about to move in for the kill," Arawn said. "Hurry."

"I _am _hurrying," Avis grunted. "You're not helping much for someone who's hacked the Covenant network."

"What am I supposed to do? Shoot them with a webcam?"

The mass amounts of Covenant troops suddenly on the third level drowned out any response Avis had. He ran as fast as he could, using anything he could for cover, when the Phantom suddenly exploded from the mass amounts of firepower being pumped into it by the dozen or so Hunters that were among the Covenant troops.

"Damn damn _damn_!" Avis repeated to himself as he huddled behind a pillar, plasma coming at him from all directions while he watched his means of escape fall burning to the ground. Then he saw the one hope he had left in the world: a Banshee.

The small purple one-person hovercraft sat docked facing toward the hangar door, and Avis didn't hesitate to run to it. When he saw there was no way both Soda and him could fit, he clipped Soda to the back of his bandolier with a carabineer and jumped in, lying on his stomach as he ran his hands over the unfamiliar holographic controls.

"Are. You. Insane?" Arawn asked as the Banshee's pods—one on each of its wiry wings—glowed to life and the Banshee took off straight up. The Covenant troops opened fire mercilessly, but Avis's real problem was keeping inside the Banshee with Soda's added weight nearly dragging him out.

"Just open the hangar door," Avis said. Arawn did, and they found a Seraph fighter heading straight for them, opening fire as soon as it was close enough.

Avis pressed a few buttons and the Banshee dived, avoiding the Seraphs plasma and screaming toward the frozen ground. Avis pulled up, and to his horror saw yet _another _problem: the Covenant ships had started to open fire on _Sacrosanct Entity, _and one of the plasma torpedoes was coming straight to where he was.

Suddenly inspired Avis met the plasma head on, boosting the Banshee's speed to the

maximum as the Seraph trailed behind. At the last second he dived as fast as he could, plasma screaming over him and colliding into the Seraph, which was barely a blip as the torpedo continued on its way to the flagship. Finally not under direct threat Avis circled around the once formidable starship before joining the rest of the evacuating Covenant craft.

"I just talked to Hocus," Arawn said. "They made it out and are waiting for us behind the nearest destroyer."

"On my way," Avis said, trying with one hand to secure Soda a little more so he wasn't just flailing around out behind the Banshee. A few minutes later they had moved alongside Hocus's dropship, been pulled inside, and watched the Banshee fall to the ground as they slipped away just inches from the icy ocean.

Once inside Avis turned to look, and saw _Sacrosanct Entity _listing to one side as the other Covenant ships burned it to a cinder. They'd been inside longer than he'd thought; the sun was already high in the clear blue sky. Avis couldn't have been more thankful that it was over, and—he looked over to Arawn—that they had gotten what they needed.

"Sir," Hocus said, "we're being hailed."

"Hold on, I'll connect Arawn so we can give them the proper response codes," Avis answered.

"No, sir…" Hocus checked the display again, "it's the E-band. That's one of _ours._"

Avis froze, stunned. The UNSC knew they were alive? "Play it," he said. He glanced toward Arawn's processor-matrix tube, and he could've sworn the thing shuddered a little.

Hocus pushed a button or two, and suddenly a professional-sounding voice came in over the speakers. "Staff Sergeant Hughie, this is UNSC base Swamp Rat. Change call-sign to Foxtrot three-two-seven and report for debriefing at included encrypted coordinates immediately. Acknowledge."

Everyone looked to Avis, and he looked right back. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: weren't they fugitives? Hadn't they broken the chain of command? Wouldn't they be arrested and tried for treason while Arawn was destroyed? Avis knew they were also asking themselves one final thing: would Avis take the chance and risk it, or order them to hide and play it out?

Avis thought about it for a moment, walked over to the COM, and turned it on. "This is First Platoon to Swamp Rat," he said. "We're coming in."


	6. Changes in the Plans

**Incoming Transmission**

**Encryption Scheme: Rainbow (thunder-matrix two)**

**From: Codename: Timekeeper**

**To: Codename: Conductor**

**Subject: **_**Classified**_ **(ONI prerogative per Cole Protocol Section Five, Paragraph B6)**

/begin message/

Covenant breached lunar perimeter at 1759 local time 24 October. UNSC forces began guerrilla warfare procedures. Ground troops fell back to previously excavated underground bases as per the Kit Plan. Remaining ships breached atmosphere and retreated to massive underground hangars until further notice from Lord Hood. Situation green; guerrilla operations began at 0132 local time, 25 October.

Slipspace probes detected incoming ship at 0705 local time 25 October. Silhouettes do NOT match any known Covenant or human profiles; in fact, silhouette appears to shift from time to time. Because of fluxes with its speed, ETA is impossible to determine. But she's coming sir, and she'll be early for Halloween.

Second Slipspace probe detection occurred at 0948 local time 25 October. Silhouette matches UNSC cruiser. Further analysis shows several hull anomalies. Photos taken and analyzed. Results come back to _See attached report here._ You know what that means.

Sir, I have no idea how the _Chimera _got away from us, but it's on the way here and it's going to piss a lot of Covenant off when it does.

/end message/

Press **Enter **to continue.

_Scene Transition_

**Covenant destroyer **_**Reason and Intent**_

**Seven kilometers above Somalia, Earth**

**Ninth Age of Reclamation**

Many millennia ago, the Prophets had left their homeworld over differences with others of their species as to what to do with the artifacts the Ancients had left behind. Sent to the solitudes of space they came across a race as intelligent as them but much stronger, much more suited for war. The two fought, and only after many battles did the two realize they were much stronger together than they had ever been apart. The Covenant was born.

It was the Elites they had found, the Elites they had fought, and the Elites who had become the core of Covenant military might. As Isra 'Romamee thought about it while walking through the corridors of his ship, _Reason and Intent, _the Elites could probably take on the entire rest of the Covenant by themselves.

But why would they ever do that?

'Romamee clicked his mandibles in irritation at himself. Who was he kidding? There had always been this small tension between the Elites and the Prophets, a tension that had seemed to intensify ever since one of the sacred rings had been destroyed. When the Prophet of Truth had chosen to punish the Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice for choosing to focus on the Flood infestation, the Elites had been most upset. Humans were easy to kill; Flood just never seemed to stay dead.

The command center for _Reason and Intent, _like in all Covenant ships, was located deep within the ship's center, where only a fatal shot could breach it. 'Romamee entered mightily, the shine of his golden armor contrasting brilliantly with the interior violet light. Irritated, 'Romamee made to settle in his proper command seat on the elevated platform in the center of the room, nearly squishing the Grunt that was standing next to it.

"What the—" 'Romamee said as the Grunt squealed and dove out the way. "What is a Grunt doing in the command center?"

The small alien seemed to mumble; it was hard to tell. The mask that supplied the Grunts with their methane reduced anyone's ability to understand them, which their squeaky voices already made difficult. "Speak up!" 'Romamee ordered. Several lesser Elites snickered at their command posts.

"Um…v-v-visitor f-for you, Ship-p M-Master," the Grunt said, shaking like a leaf. "W-waiting for y-you in the n-next r-room."

"Who is it?" asked 'Romamee, standing to his full height in order to scare the Grunt even further. Judging by how the little alien was wringing his hands, he guessed he was succeeding. "Never mind. Tell them I have better things to do."

"S-sir," the Grunt insisted, "I th-think you'd b-better go and s-see him, Ship M-Master. H-he is a P-Prophet."

'Romamee rolled his eyes and clicked his mandibles several times. It was just like the Prophets to interfere. "Very well. Lead the way, Grunt."

Glad to know he wasn't a second away from being shot through the head, the Grunt nodded excitedly. "Yes sir. This way." He led 'Romamee out a different set of doors from the one the Elite had entered a moment before, where a short corridor led to a different set of doors.

"You're very brave for entering the command center uninvited," 'Romamee said. "Or perhaps very foolish."

"Just following orders, Ship Master," the Grunt replied. He had to take five steps for every two of 'Romamee's. "I was told to bring you to the Prophet, and I always do my job."

In spite of thousands of years of instinct that had made his race believe Grunts were inferior, 'Romamee couldn't help but appreciate the sense of duty; that was one of the core values of the Elites. "What's your name?"

There was a moment's hesitation, but 'Romamee assumed it was only because the Grunt probably didn't get asked that question much. "Wewaw, Excellency."

They had arrived at the door. Wewaw bowed and moved aside so 'Romamee could enter. He looked down at the Grunt. "You're an excellent messenger, Wewaw. We shall meet again."

"Whatever the Ship Master commands," Wewaw replied loyally. He turned and left down yet another corridor.

'Romamee entered, the doors opening silently. It wasn't a large room, but the fact that it was bare added to the feeling of it being vast. The Prophet sat in the center, red and gold robes folded over his body as he rested on a chair hovering in midair. The Prophet's serpentine neck connected its body to its pallid head, on top of which was an ornate headpiece embroidered with gold. Its eyes were closed, and 'Romamee believed it was meditating, the chair bobbing a little on the air currents.

Walking in with his head held high, 'Romamee nonetheless kneeled before the Prophet

when he neared the hierarch. Covenant law was clear: even the lowest Prophet outranked a Ship Master, or even a Fleet Master. This was one of the reasons there was tension between the two races. "I have come as ordered, Excellency," 'Romamee said obediently, looking nowhere but the ground.

The Prophet did not open his eyes immediately, but rather slowly, deliberately, as if even that act was divine. "You are Ship Master 'Romamee?" His voice was just slightly wheezy, but it added to his appearance of authority, not weakness.

"Yes, Excellency."

"Rise." 'Romamee did as he was ordered, staring right into the Prophet's dark brown eyes. "I am the Prophet of Sorrow. I am currently the highest ranking Covenant official on this planet. Do you understand so far?"

'Romamee bristled at the sudden way the Prophet assumed control over him, and treated him like he was…like he was inferior. He'd always hated being told what to do. "Yes, Excellency." There was a tone of sting in his voice.

"Wonderful," the Prophet of Sorrow said monotonously. "I have been instructed to tell you—just as other commanding officers are being told—that just under an hour ago the Prophet of Regret was assassinated on a second Halo."

It was short, almost nonchalant, but there was so much information in that sentence 'Romamee had to hear it again. "The Prophet of Regret is dead? They found another of the sacred rings?"

"The discovery had been made some time ago," Sorrow said. "We've kept it out of mainstream for security reasons. But the real news is the Prophet of Regret's assassination. That is most disturbing to the Covenant."

Well that was certainly true. One of the three Upper Hierarchs was dead. Murdered. "Who did it?" 'Romamee asked. "Who is responsible?"

Sorrow paused for a brief moment before answering. "It would appear," he said, "that one of the humans was responsible. The demon. The 'Master Chief.' "

'Romamee couldn't help it and roared with anger. The monstrosity that had destroyed the first Halo was on yet _another? _And he had murdered an Upper Hierarch on it? "How is that _possible?_" 'Romamee exclaimed. "Each of the Three is guarded by their own _armada _of troops. Not to mention the Royal Guard—"

Sorrow raised a hand and that alone was enough to cut 'Romamee off. "That's just it, isn't it? Despite thousands of Elites standing between this demon and Regret, he still managed to land on the sacred ring, desecrate it with his filthy footsteps, and kill one of the Three! Not to mention that even here, humans had managed to breach our flagship, necessitating a scuttle! A hierarch is dead, Ship Master, and steps must be taken to ensure no other high-ranking Covenant officials meet the same fate!"

To 'Romamee it was perfectly clear that by 'high-ranking Covenant officials' Sorrow meant Prophets and no one else. Still, he held his tongue. The Prophets had a tendency to bluster. "What did Your Excellency have in mind?"

The Prophet looked more menacing and power-hungry than ever before. "For starters, in light of the fate of _Sacrosanct Entity,_ I'm commanding _Reason and Intent _becomes the new flagship of the system. Here is where I will reside, and here is where all tactical command will emanate from."

'Romamee nodded, excitement flowing through him. Making _Reason and Intent _the flagship meant he, as its Ship Master, would be a Fleet Master, in charge of all the ships in the system. It was every Elite's dream to be a Fleet Master—it was the highest rank and Elite could achieve and still be allowed to participate in combat. "As you wish, Excellency," he said, trying to contain his enthusiasm.

"And," Sorrow said, almost as an afterthought, "I'm relieving you of command."

'Romamee couldn't believe he had heard this, heard all his hopes and ambitions come crashing around his hoofed feet. "Excellency?"

"It's a universal policy change, by order of the Prophet of Truth. We're reducing Elite high command positions and make Brutes the new Royal Guard." He pushed a control on his chair and a panel slid open. "Callius will be Fleet Master from now on, and his Brutes will be in charge of this ship," Sorrow told 'Romamee smugly.

The Brute stepped out of the shadows, and 'Romamee had to admit he was an impressive sight. Taller than an Elite, and more muscular, Callius had thick, rust-colored fur and a massive and powerful maw. He stood upright, and in his meaty paws he held a powerful gravity hammer, glowing a soft blue as it remained formidably in Callius's grip.

"The Elites have failed us for the last time," Sorrow said. "We value your contributions, but it's time to give someone else the responsibility of our security; someone up to the job. The Brutes fit the bill perfectly. They're intelligent, strong, combat-tested, and—"

"All they are is primitive," 'Romamee said in spite of himself. He didn't care what the Prophet would say or do. The Brutes were no better than wild animals.

Callius grunted. "Would you like to say that again?" he asked in a deep snarling voice, moving the hammer so it was more ready to use in his hands.

"Better," 'Romamee replied, activating the energy sword that he always kept with him. The blazing triangle of energy flared to life, and the Elite prepared to pounce. "Actions speak louder than words."

"Enough," the Prophet of Sorrow said sternly. "Callius, put that away." The Brute obeyed, and then Sorrow turned his attention back to 'Romamee. "The decision is final, so there's no use arguing. I want you and your Elites off my ship before the next cycle. I believe _Holy Fortitude _is still an Elite ship. See if they have any room for you there."

'Romamee wanted so badly to lash out and slice Sorrow's neck at that moment, but he controlled himself and disarmed his weapon. "It shall be done, Excellency." He turned and left, disgraced and wondering how he would break the news to his Elites.

To his surprise he found Wewaw in the corridor when he had exited, and the startled Grunt squeaked and fell back. "I was j-just…" he tried to explain, "um…"

Having a sudden burst of information, 'Romamee cut him off. "Never mind that," he said. "Tell me, Wewaw, would you rather have Brutes or Elites commanding you? You may answer honestly; I swear by the sacred rings I will not harm you no matter your answer."

Wewaw took a moment to think about it. "Both have been unkind, cruel, to my race for millennia," he said. "But only one has ever shown any kindness at all, and that is your race Excellency. I serve the Elites."

"Good," 'Romamee said. "Then I can tell you a secret. The secret of why we _really _came to this planet."

_Scene Transition_

It felt good to be back in a Pelican, with air conditioning, seats that didn't make your spine scream in protest, and the knowledge you were out of immediate danger and in the arms of the UNSC. The only thing that made Avis upset was that last time there had been too many of his men to fit. Now those that were left were able to space apart comfortably.

Everyone else was cheerful as well, except perhaps Hocus, her copilot and crew chief. All were sitting together near the back, almost huddled together, and Avis thought he knew why: every few seconds Hocus eyed the Pelican's pilot with a look that was both envious and scorning at the same time.

They had managed to sneak out of Antarctica, up through South America and across the Atlantic Ocean before rendezvousing with the Pelican near Tunis. Avis had wondered how the dropships moved so quickly, but it made sense when Arawn explained the ships flew near the edge of the atmosphere, exponentially increasing its speed. In fact, when Avis asked for the time and date, he was surprised to learn it was barely 1900 hours on October the 25th.

First Platoon had a million questions as to what had happened with the other UNSC forces, but the pilot refused to answer, saying that the UNSC had a million questions as to what had happened to them. So with that they had taken off to an undisclosed location, a location—according to the pilot—they were now getting very close to.

Avis still hadn't figured out what to do about Arawn. He was especially in danger, because there was no question about what would happen to him: instant erasure. But despite the inevitability of his fate, he kept his promise and didn't run to another system or server. He really was going to stick with them until the end. Avis smiled to himself at the nobility of the act. If only there was a way to keep the UNSC from knowing he was there…and then it hit him.

"Arawn, I have an idea," he whispered into the mike embedded in his cap, the only headgear he had left.

"What?" the AI replied, tone guardedly optimistic.

"Make yourself look like another AI. Move some algorithms around or whatever it is you do and mask the fact it's really you. It shouldn't be hard, right?"

Arawn thought about it briefly. "Technically not," he said. "But there are codes, programming roots that are unique and unchangeable. If they look at those it'll be so easy to figure out who I am even the Covenant could do it." He snickered, then sighed. "Great, now it's in my humor circuits."

"No, it was just a terrible joke."

"Eh. Wait a second," Arawn said. "The Covenant chatter just quadrupled; every channel's going haywire. Something about a dead Prophet…okay, here's the short and sweet version: the Master Chief has killed the Prophet of Regret, and the Elites are now sharing power with Brutes. They're not known well to us, so I'll keep digging."

"Damn," said Avis. He had only encountered Brutes once, and it wasn't an experience he was looking forward to again. He gingerly touched the shoulder that the alien had mauled with its very large, very sharp teeth a year before. "But see? All the more reason to disguise yourself: to get all this important information to the UNSC."

Arawn sighed. "Fine," he said, a minute later asking in a Scottish accent, "There, that better laddie?"

"Perfect," answered Avis. "Now no one will suspect. But, quick question here: when they ask for a debrief, what do I say?"

"Just tell them the truth, minus all the stuff about me. Oh, and include all that valiant, lone hero, one man against Covenant stuff. Marines love that crap."

"Hey," Avis said. "I'm a marine, remember?"

"Yeah, and?"

Avis thought about it for a second. "I love that crap," he admitted.

"Told you."

Whatever else the two wanted to talk about, it was drowned out as the pilot radioed in, inspiring yet more envious and scorning looks from Hocus. "Swamp Rat, this is Pelican gamma niner-four-two, approaching from the west. Request permission to land. Over."

A second later a voice—the same voice that had contacted First Platoon's stolen dropship—answered. "Acknowledged gamma niner-two-four. This is Swamp Rat. Do you have the package?"

"Roger that Swamp Rat," the pilot answered, glancing back at the haggard marines. "What's left of them."

"Gamma niner-two-four, you are cleared for landing on Pad Three; repeat Pad Three. Winds are coming from the north at three knots. Suggest your final approach be from the southwest to avoid enemy patrols, over."

"Wilco Swamp Rat. Pad Three, winds at three knots from the north, approach from the southwest. Gamma niner-two-four out." The radio clicked off, and the Pelican turned to slide into the appropriate vector.

A minute later the dropship decelerated and a loud _whir _implied the landing gear was lowered. Avis glanced at Soda, who had come to consciousness just a minute before, and nodded to him encouragingly. Soda smiled back, then was jostled around in his seat as the Pelican touched ground with a satisfying _thump._

When the back hatch opened Avis was one of the first out, noticing that the landing pad was apparently on the side of the cliff, for he got a good look of the ground a long way down and of the crater from the Slipspace Incident at New Mombasa before doors made of rock closed and the circular pad lined with crates of all types of material were lit by lights that hung over them and around the rails.

Several marines were sitting around the landing pads, and all suddenly turned and whispered to each other while Avis and the others unloaded. Why this was Avis couldn't be sure, but he didn't have much time to think about it. Within seconds Lord Hood had approached from within the bowels of the base, expression unreadable and his uniform stained with grease.

"Atten-_shun!_" Avis yelled, and First Platoon snapped to and saluted to Lord Hood as one. His call echoed around the enclosed space, adding grandeur to the whole affair, almost as if Lord Hood was welcoming a group ten times the size of the remnants of First Platoon.

"At ease," Hood said as he returned the salute, and as one the men relaxed, placing their arms behind their backs and standing with their feet shoulders width apart. "Welcome to Swamp Rat Base, gentlemen, and let me start off with congratulating you on making it through the odyssey you've endured thus far. If half of it is true you all deserve numerous commendations. But first things first, we have lots of debriefing to do. So if you would please follow me we can get this over with as soon as possible, and…" he eyed Arawn's processor-matrix tube, "get each other up to speed."

Without waiting for any acknowledgement he turned and left, leaving First Platoon to fall behind and follow as the admiral led them through hastily constructed passageways and small highways where Warthogs transported material from here to there. Wherever men saw them they paused briefly to whisper into each other's ear, and Avis wondered if they were calling them traitors or heroes.

"After the Prophet of Regret literally blew out of New Mombasa, the resistance sort of fell apart," Lord Hood said as he walked. "When the Covenant got through they bombarded most of the major cities on the continent, and casualties were…" a man suddenly passed by, pushing along a marine covered in bandages and laid out on a gurney, "extreme. But they've concentrated their forces here, East Africa. That's when they started digging."

"Hey Arawn," Avis whispered into his mike, "did you ever get to translate those communiqués?"

"Done and done again to be sure," Arawn said. "It's juicy stuff, I tell you. Or at least I will, and soon. I'll tell you all." He sounded a little tired, and Avis wondered just how far along the virus destroying him was. He didn't ask, though. No one needed to be asked how long they had to live. "Oh, by the way, whenever you talk to me outside the platoon, call me Scotty."

"Got it."

Lord Hood had never noticed the brief conversation. "We've been in a war of attrition ever since, destroying small installations, ambushing scout parties, even some minor strafing runs against depots. It's not exactly where we'd like to be, but we're holding our own."

The command center was about thirty by fifteen yards, packed with computers and makeshift terminals where holographic displays showed different Covenant ships or troops. In one corner, elevated near the ceiling, was a giant view screen, currently off. Apparently the command center—maybe even the entire base—was built under a swamp; something wet and muddy fell on Avis's hand from above, and when he looked up he saw a slight crack in the ceiling.

"We don't put chocolate mints on you pillows here, but we'll do what we can to make you comfortable," said Hood. He picked up a clipboard, signed whatever was on it, and handed it off to a subordinate before sitting in an old office chair.

"We'd appreciate that very much sir, thank you," Avis replied. To finally sleep in a bed again…just the thought made him insanely drowsy. He knew the others were thinking the same thing when he heard a muffled _umpf _followed by a small whimper, and he had a feeling Feinst was wearing a satisfied grin on his face right about then.

Lord Hood grabbed a small bottle of Scotch from a drawer and drank straight from the bottle. "Now, I know you've been up to a lot, you and your platoon," he said, "I mean, no one steals a Covenant dropship and infiltrates their flagship just for kicks. So, if you don't mind Staff Sergeant, I need you to tell me what you've been up to. Every detail." His tone was friendly, but no one was fooled; it was an order, as direct as the day was long.

Slowly Avis revealed bit by bit how the past two days had gone for the men of First Platoon, varying only where Arawn was concerned. Rather than tell Lord Hood about the AI, they implied that they had found 'Scotty' in a downed Pelican near Voi. When it came to why they had boarded the _Sacrosanct Entity, _he claimed they had found messages aboard the computer of the Phantom they had stolen. It was over before he realized it, and when he looked up half the people there were staring straight at him, waiting to hear more.

Hood noticed it too. "Back to work," he ordered, and the others hastily jumped to it. "Well son, that is one hell of a story, and if it weren't for the infrared photos showing humans in a Covenant dropship, I wouldn't believe a word of it. But, since I have said photos, and believe said story," he drained the rest of the bottle in one gulp, "what do these Prophet transmissions say?"

"That, sir, only one person can tell us," Avis said, pulling out his datapad. He paused. "You're sure you're strong enough for this?" he asked Arawn quietly, pretending to cough so no one would notice.

"I've been waiting weeks for this moment," the AI replied. "I'm not going to bug out

now. I can do it Avis. Trust me."

Avis did, implicitly, so he connected the datapad to a terminal and said, "Scotty, you're on."

A holographic projector activated and 'Scotty' jumped into existence, but Avis didn't recognize the avatar at all. Arawn had altered his image well; he now appeared fat, bearded and wearing a kilt. With a bagpipe hanging over one shoulder and a plaid hat upon his balding head, Avis smirked at what he saw now. Arawn looked the part, sounded the part, and, he hoped, would play the part, because he wanted to know what was going on as much as Lord Hood.

"For the past few months I've been trying to figure out why the Covenant attacked us in the first place," Arawn began, Scottish accent perfect. "It just didn't make sense to me, killing us just because we were there. So I began to do some research, going back through decades of intercepted messages and trying to piece things together. It was very annoying and took awhile, but then I saw something so obvious everyone missed it: the Covenant may have had alien technology, but we had alien artifacts."

No one seemed to understand. "Come on!" Arawn insisted. "It made perfect sense! We always knew the Covenant were imitative, not innovative, so they had to get the technology from _somewhere, _right? And when you look at all the worlds they attacked, archaic symbols have been found that are similar and likely belonged to the same race."

A few people now had looks of comprehension, so Arawn took that as a signal to continue.

"So I concluded that the Covenant had always been looking for these objects, and they were simply getting us out of the way—maybe they assumed we already knew about these artifacts. But that still doesn't answer the real questions: where had the artifacts come from, and why had the Covenant invaded Earth?

"Then the _Pillar of Autumn _stumbled upon the first Halo a month ago, along with the Flood. Things got so much clearer from Cortana's report. These mysterious 'Forerunners' that had built the Halo rings were obviously the ones that had left the artifacts on our worlds and given the Covenant their technology. But again, why? Why do all this? I have a theory, but this is just speculative to a point, so bear with me.

"I believe the Forerunners lost control of the Flood, and all their countermeasures proved ineffective. I believe that, on the brink of oblivion, they hatched a plan to eliminate the Flood once and for all, and they were going to use the only species in the galaxy that could evolve to the intelligence level needed: humanity and the races of the Covenant.

"Here's where things begin to come together. The Forerunners had made their mistakes and didn't want them repeated. The plan was to have the groups work together. Think about it: humanity is innovative and of one species, the Covenant imitative and a group of species. They gave the Covenant the knowledge of where to find what we needed, they gave us the artifacts themselves."

Arawn's image vanished and was replaced by two images. "The stone from Sigma Octanus IV, telling us where Halo was located," the AI continued to say; the image blinked momentarily. "The second stone from Menachite Mountain within Reach, its properties allowing us to travel through Slipspace exponentially faster. Together with the technology the Covenant had, we were supposed to create a force not even the Flood could stop."

All around men had stopped working again and were focusing on Arawn's story, and this time Lord Hood didn't stop them. Avis was enthralled, but he had a feeling this was about to get a lot better, and he couldn't have been more right.

"A week ago I intercepted several communiqués between the Covenant Prophets, their ruling class," Arawn continued. "I was unable to translate them at the time, but thanks to Staff Sergeant Avis Hughie and his able platoon we obtained decryption software. The communiqués listed several objectives they hoped to achieve in arriving on Earth, chief among them rendezvousing with a 'fortressed city' which would take them to somewhere called 'the Ark' where they could quote 'light all the holy rings, whose divine wind would sweep them on the Great Journey.'

"I think somewhere along the line something went wrong, and the Prophets interpreted the Great Journey as a journey only they and their followers could take, when in fact it was a mission to secure all the artifacts needed to destroy the Flood. Because of this the Covenant became our enemies, instead of our allies."

Arawn paused to allow this to digest, giving time for Corporal Tripp to ask "And the fortressed city? The Ark?"

Arawn smiled, looking weird as the Scottish man. "I believe this fortressed city was the Forerunners' contingency plan for us should we fail, that it take us to the safety of the Ark. Somehow the Covenant calculated when the city would arrive in-system, though they were a tad off."

"How _off_?" Lord Hood asked.

"About ninety four thousand years," Arawn said. "But something is wrong there I can't explain. ONI Slipspace probes have picked up a ship inbound that matches what I know about the city. It'll be here tomorrow."

There was a stunned silence at this. "So…what do we do when it gets here?" PFC Kip asked.

"I have a plan," answered Arawn. "The Covenant know of their mathematical error and are most aggrieved. I believe what they're digging for is something else they think will activate all the Halos, which as we all know will wipe out sentient life in the galaxy, and that's a _bad _thing. It's possible the Forerunners left a miniature version of the Ark under New Mombasa. Either way, when they see that city arrive, they will jump on it and make it go straight to the Ark, where they won't hesitate to activate the Halos. We can't let that happen.

"Our only option is to destroy the city once it arrives. We need to board, find the main energy source, and destroy it, before the Covenant figure it out. This is a Forerunner ship we're talking about; if it jumps, we're not catching up with it. Period."

"Wouldn't an exterior demolition be more practical?" Lord Hood asked. "Use our orbital platforms and remaining ships?"

"I'd rather not risk it," Arawn said. "The Forerunner shield technology has never been tested, but you can bet it's much more powerful than anything the Covenant have, especially on such an important ship. I think we—" he stifled a cough, "I think we sh—" he stifled a few more coughs before erupting in a powerful fit, his avatar flickering and going out.

"Ar—Scotty?" Avis asked. There was no reply. "Scotty!"

Somewhere in the datapad, Arawn felt the virus breach the firewall between his periphery systems and the outer portions of his core-logic. He also felt the program ignite its mutating powers on these systems, starting with the software that enabled him to project himself as a hologram and working from there, replicating bad line of code after bad line of code and causing his system to seize again.

It was definite now, no questions needed; things would advance much more rapidly now that the virus was through the firewall he had created. Arawn was living on borrowed time.

_Scene Transition_

049 Futile Atonement floated happily along one of _Construct Four_'s many corridors, humming to itself a dandy little tune it had spent the last eighty three thousand four hundred nineteen years trying to remember the ending to. It stopped moving and singing, hovering in midair, for a moment forgetting where it was supposed to go. Then it remembered it was heading back the control room and continued on its way, humming again.

Why did the Reclaimers object to Earth's destruction? Weren't they aware of procedure, of the plan his creators had constructed in order to stop the Flood? Had the delay really caused them to forget that much? If so the fault was its own for allowing the Flood to get on board and corrupt the navigation computer, for without that there would've been no delay. Still, despite their objections, procedure was procedure, and procedure called for Earth's destruction. 049 Futile Atonement would see to it that procedure was followed to the letter this time…no matter what the Reclaimers said.

A Flood combat form jumped out of a hole further down the hall and began to run at the AI. "Oh hello," 049 Futile Atonement chirped cheerfully. Then it burned the combat form to a cinder with the energy beam from its eye before continuing along, still humming.

When he arrived in the control room he floated over to where the Reclaimers were, several Sentinels hovering overhead. 049 Futile Atonement had never like the Sentinels much. They had the nasty habit of shooting first and asking questions later. Understandable, but nonetheless unnecessary. And clearly a violation of protocol.

"I am _terribly _sorry for the restraints," it said, looking at each gagged and bound human in turn, "but your objections to protocol clearly necessitated action. Protocol must be followed at all costs, and protocol says all Reclaimers are to report here and then the Gate is to be destroyed. My hands are tied…if I had any. _Tee hee hee._"

Admiral Harper managed to get the gag out of his mouth. "You can't do this! The people of Earth will never allow it."

049 Futile Atonement laughed again. It wasn't the stereotypical maniacal laugh many expected to hear, but rather the same cheery laugh it had always had. "If the other Reclaimers prove as reluctant as you, I will have to detain them as well. I assure there are more than enough Sentinels onboard for the job, and as you have been firsthand witnesses to, their stun rays are quite capable."

Commander Thomas managed to get his gag free as well. "But wouldn't it be better until you have the Flood controlled? Do you want to give them access to Earth and the Ark?"

The AI floated down to Jayson's eye level. "Contamination is not an issue," it said simply. "As I said before the Inner Dome has never been close to being breached, and once the Gate is destroyed we may proceed to the Ark, where you will be transported without risking Flood exposure. Everything is under control."

Holmes materialized at the control room's panel, so small no one could see him, including 049 Futile Atonement. Just because the little bugger had a fit every timehe moved didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. Besides, 049 Futile Atonement was starting to piss him off.

He went through the circuits, passing through the blocks 049 Futile Atonement had put up with ease. He wondered how to attract its attention, but apparently there was no need; within milliseconds the alien AI that had attacked him when he'd first entered was on him.

"Heretic!" it hissed, still sounding in pain. "Perish in infected fire…_error_…until all that remains…_error_…are glass and worms…_error_…"

The AI attempted to attack Holmes, but this time he was ready and threw up a firewall that countered the attack sequence and sent a much more powerful one of his own around his counterpart. A moment later the AI was struggling in Holmes's grasp.

"So do it," it said. "Erase me and I will forever…_error_…be martyred…_error_…into eternal flame…_error_…and fiery glory…_error_…to be worshipped…"

"Just shut up and listen," Holmes said, patience waning rapidly. "You want to get out of this prison that excuse for an AI put you in, correct?"

The AI did not answer immediately, but then uttered a small "Yes."

"Then I can help you," Holmes said, watching 049 Futile Atonement talk about protocol and hum some more. "So long as you do me a favor."


	7. In the Meantime

**Covenant destroyer **_**Reason and Intent**_

**In high orbit above Earth**

**Ninth Age of Reclamation**

Wewaw tiptoed—a difficult thing to do when one's feet were clawed—down one of _Reason and Intent_'s more deserted hallways, keeping to the shadows as much as possible to avoid the ship's internal surveillance system. A chill ran up his spine when he heard footsteps approaching the intersection he was heading to, and knowing he'd never be able to hide completely, he stepped out into full view of the ambient violet lighting. The Jackal whose footsteps he had heard came into view and Wewaw gave the carrion bird-looking alien a hopefully inconspicuous wave. The Jackal gnashed its teeth in a very contemptuous manner before continuing on its way.

Breathing a sigh of relief inaudible behind his methane mask, Wewaw continued on his way. It wouldn't have been the first time a Jackal had attacked a Grunt that was on its own with no Elites around; they thought themselves superior to "gas suckers." And now with the Brutes in charge the Jackals had no reason to fear retribution, for both had an equal love of bloodshed. Frankly Wewaw considered it a miracle he hadn't been attacked just now, though trying to understand why Jackals did or didn't do things was like trying to teach a Hunter to waltz.

Three abandoned corridors and no Jackals later Wewaw found the maintenance hatch 'Romamee had told him to go to. It was a small vertical shaft barely large enough for Wewaw to fit in, and with great difficulty he placed the air bladder borrowed from one of the Engineers at his feet. The Engineer had tried to explain how to use it, but as their race had no way to communicate beyond basic sounds and hand signals, something may have gotten lost in translation. He pushed a small button at one end and the bladder soundlessly filled with lighter-than-air gases, allowing Wewaw to slowly rise.

The plan, as Wewaw understood it, was for him to place a small probe in the vent above the command center so 'Romamee and the other Elites aboard _Holy Fortitude _could keep an eye on what Callius was up to. After 'Romamee had explained everything Wewaw didn't blame them for spying; the thought of a Brute being in command when a powerful Forerunner structure was about to enter the system was…unthinkable. The Elites may have had their faults, but they, at least, were willing to acknowledge that the Prophets weren't perfect, and could be wrong.

The air bladder had a lot of lift, but was balanced precariously at best. Wewaw only managed to stay up because the shaft was so thin, allowing him to spread his arms and legs to touch the shaft's opposite sides and control his ascent. Finally the shaft turned ninety degrees to the left and Wewaw crawled along it, leaving the air bladder to deflate behind him.

"I'm in the vent, Excellency," Wewaw whispered into the small voice-activated microphone embedded in his mask. "It won't be long now."

"So long as this goes on, you may as well drop the 'Excellency' title and call me by my name," 'Romamee's voice said back. "I doubt we Elites are entitled to that honor at this point anyway."

"Yes, Ex—yes, 'Romamee," Wewaw struggled to say. He crawled along for a few minutes. " 'Romamee?"

"Yes?"

"It's not nice, is it? Being thought inferior?"

There was a deep throttling sound that Wewaw recognized as Elite laughter. "No, it isn't. The last few units seem to have been more enlightening than all the years of Prophets' Decrees."

Speaking of units, Wewaw checked the meter on his methane tank and discovered he

only had a little bit of the heavy gas left before the tank ran dry. This came as somewhat of a shock because there had always been rumors—passed down from Grunt to Grunt over generations—of getting lost within a ventilation shaft of a large starship just like this one until the methane was gone and the little aliens slowly suffocated. However, Wewaw spotted a small emergency methane tank that the Covenant had started placing in these shafts and breathed a sigh of relief. _Don't be naïve _the Grunt thought to himself. _They just don't want dead Grunts clogging up the airways._

After another minute or two Wewaw heard the deep rough voice of Brutes coming from beneath an upcoming vent. It would've escaped his notice, only as he passed over it he saw one of these Brutes shove the other forcefully into the wall. Without thinking Wewaw grabbed the probe from his gear and snuck it through so 'Romamee could see as well.

"Treachery!" the Brute not being held down bellowed. "Such treacherous words, Antioch! I should have you skinned!" His grip on Antioch's throat tightened.

"But you won't, Arius," Antioch managed to gasp back, "because you're no more satisfied with their scum than I am. After such a long time of waiting, we finally have a fleet as our ancestors did, and the blessings of the Prophets! Now is the time to wipe them from the pages of the Covenant roles!"

Arius did not speak for more than a minute. "Our role at the moment is to start the Great Journey," he finally said. "And to destroy the human resistance. After that the Prophets will have no reason to keep the Elites around at all, and you may kill as you please. Now come; Callius is waiting for us at the command center."

Antioch must've felt that, even without the mature "-us" suffix on his name, he was above orders, because his response was a brief growl before following Arius out of the room. Wewaw took a minute to gather himself before collecting the probe and continuing onward.

"So they're going to abandon us and start the Great Journey themselves, are they?" 'Romamee asked hypothetically of no one in particular. "Savage cowards. They fear damaging their mongrel hides in a direct fight."

"I'm sure a direct fight would be of no concern to Callius or his Brutes," another, older-sounding Elite said. "No, this cowardice smells of Prophets. Do not forget it is they that are the puppeteers."

"Yes, Fleet Master 'Ulsamee," 'Romamee replied. "How are things on your end?"

"Nasty. More Brutes are coming, tensions are rising, and conflict is imminent. I don't know how long I can keep the peace. You must hurry, or war will start before we want it to."

"Once the construct gets here peace won't matter," 'Romamee said. "But I hear you, Fleet Master, and we will hurry. Wewaw, status?"

"Nearly there," the Grunt replied, and sure enough a minute later he heard the distant rough baritones of Antioch and Arius greeting Callius in the traditional way: roaring at each other. Once Wewaw was over the vent in question he snuck the probe just far enough in to see completely before retreating back the way he had come.

He hadn't crawled long before he came across an Engineer, floating just above the lower of the shaft on its own air bladder. Wewaw could never figure out how to describe what they looked like, except for the arms, which were long strands of something that resembled putty. Even as he watched the Engineer's arms split into hundreds of fine cilia and snaked through the electrical conduit it was working on. Wewaw, as always, was amazed at the Engineers' technical skill. If it was broken, they could fix it.

The Engineer spotted him, turning one eye toward him and removing an arm from the conduit to speak. Wewaw had never been able to understand the signs perfectly, but he generally got the gist of it. _What do here?_

_Lost pistol down vent, _Wewaw signed back, lying. _You?_

_Checking for bugs, _the Engineer replied. He used one of the cilia to point to a vent. _Their orders. _A sound similar to a rolling _blurp _came from the alien, which Wewaw took as disgust.

The Grunt tried not to panic at the fact that they were already checking for probes, and if he hadn't thought of a way out of it he might've failed to hide his concern. _You like not Brutes?_

The Engineer gave a flurry of signals, most of which contained numerous profanities so far as Wewaw could tell. So he only bothered to remember the most important of the signals. _Duh._

Another important question. _Want be with Elites?_

Another _Duh._

Wewaw pointed back to where he'd come from with one hand and signed with another. _Say no probe there, you go to Elites. Yes?_

The Engineer hummed appreciatively, signing that he couldn't thank Wewaw enough. _But we have hurry, _it finished.

_Why?_

Taking something out of a compartment in his air bladder, the Engineer flicked on a hologram. It showed a large stone, about half a meter long and wide, randomly shifting between dozens of geometric—and seemingly non-geometric—shapes.

_We take, _it said, _or Brutes win._

_Scene Transition_

Avis had a problem; nay, an irritation. Yes, it was a minor one, but it was an unnecessary grievance all the same. It wasn't that the whine of the Warthog's electric engine was too loud beating against his eardrums, nor that the vehicle rode low enough to nearly scrape his boots and send him shooting out of the vehicle—there were no doors—and onto the hard earth at nearly fifty miles an hour. No, what irritated him was so simple it was almost laughable.

Corporal Tripp was the worst driver in history.

The young marine had managed to hit every rock, pothole and ditch in the Serengeti, or at least made an unconscious yet valiant effort at it. In the thirty or so minutes they'd been driving, Avis figured about twelve years of wear and tear had been added to the Warthog's shocks. It was a miracle they hadn't had a blowout yet.

Still, Avis had to give credit where it was due. Having been unconscious for most of their treatments from the injuries they'd receive aboard the _Cairo, _Corporals Tripp and Kip had been fortunate enough to be moved to a critical care center in Alexandria before the Slipspace Incident. Once they'd awakened and found out where their platoon was headed, they'd spurned the advice of the doctors and demanded immediate transport. To their surprise they'd gotten it, and arrived at Swamp Rat just in time to volunteer for this little outing.

The rest of First Platoon was back at the base, getting some desperately needed rack time. Avis wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he'd tried, now that Arawn's condition was critical. The AI had been forced to shut down absolutely everything except a few key systems to stave off the brunt of the virus. When Avis had asked how long he had now that it was in his core-logic, Arawn had laughed. "How fast can you count?" he'd answered.

However, keeping Arawn away from the suspicious eyes of Swamp Rat was only one reason Avis had volunteered for this minor mission. Lord Hood had made it clear the number of troops he could spare to destroy the Forerunner ship was limited at best, intolerably scarce at worst. Since the mission was to liberate a POW camp, Avis wasn't about to sit back while the lives of five hundred marines—five hundred more men to assist the attack—hung in the balance.

"Approaching the canyons," Lieutenant Rodriguez, the man in charge of the mission, said over the COM. "We've got three ways in, four Warthogs to a path. Slow to ten miles an hour once inside, and I'll see you at the target."

As Tripp aimed for the center path, Avis heard something that made his head turn. He saw the tail end of a pack of elephants stumble off across the plain, tall grass barely reaching their knees. That, accompanied by the distant roar of a lion, reminded Avis where he was. After all this fighting he'd almost forgotten this was Earth, but rather just another world the Covenant had marked for destruction.

"Hey Tripp!" Corporal Kip called over the radio from his place manning the Warthog's mounted gun. "You catch those elephants?"

"Yep," Tripp replied. "Figures it took an alien invasion to finally let me on a safari."

The amount of light dropped dramatically as they entered the interconnected canyons, canopy of thick trees shading them from more than a hundred feet above the ground. Avis had been afraid the Warthogs' engines might've been enough to alert Covenant sentries, but he needn't have worried; the squawks from all the tropical birds more than drowned it out.

It didn't take long to reach the POW camp, which was situated in a large depression about two miles into the canyons. While it was certainly large enough to fit all the prisoners, it also happened to be surrounded by cliffs, with three opening that were now UNSC property. In other words, the Covenant were sitting ducks.

With barely a glance at the corpse of the Jackal sentry they'd soundlessly dispatched moments before—though Tripp had made it a point to give it a good kick—Avis grabbed one of the M99 Stanchion rifles from the back of the Warthog, admiring how light it was. Similar to a MAC cannon, the rifles used magnetic coils to accelerate projectiles to almost unheard of velocities. Theoretically, the rifle could send a round through five feet of concrete at five hundred yards and still blow an organism to shreds.

Tripp eased the Warthog to the edge of the cliff—the others in Avis's squad following suit—before grabbing his own M99. Lieutenant Rodriguez's strategy called for using the rifles and Gauss cannons on the modified Warthogs as cover fire while the rest of the group secured the prisoners. "Red Team ready," Avis whispered into the COM, trying to minimize radio chatter.

"Roger," Rodriguez said. "Blue and Green, sit rep?"

"Ready."

"Ready sir."

"Understood. Fire on my go."

Using the rifle's powerful infrared scope, Avis saw a number of Brutes in a series of buildings on the opposite side of the camp. He marked one with the rifle's targeting laser. "Tripp, hit the building to the left of the one I just lit up. Kip, use that cannon to take out the one on the right. I'll get the rest." He didn't need to scope to see the prisoners, though—five hundred men penned up like cattle behind a strong mesh fence. Even from here Avis could see some would need medical attention.

"Yes sir," both men responded. The last thing Avis had time to do was attach a small stand to the rifle's barrel and lay on his stomach to increase stability. He eyed the moving masses through the scope…

"Weapons free. Fire at will," Lieutenant Rodriguez ordered.

Without hesitation Avis squeezed the trigger three times, watching the powerful slugs decimate both the concrete structures and the Covenant inside. All around silvery vacuums opened up as the UNSC ordinance pushed aside air itself to get where it needed to go as fast as possible. In thirty seconds all hostiles visible had been confirmed dead and the POWs cheered as large trucks rolled in to evacuate them to safety.

"Avis…" Arawn's voice crackled over the COM. The staff sergeant grew worried at how weak his voice was. "I've just picked up—a bomb under the camp. I don't know if anything's alive down there, but…se-secure it."

"Will do," Avis replied stoically. "Tripp, Kip, with me. Explosive ordinance detail. Now." The rope and winch that had already served him on the Phantom over Voi did him wonders again as the three marines descended into the camp, assault rifles now the weapon of choice. Buildings were still smoking as they ran through the facility, guided by the NAV point the silent Arawn had put on Avis's datapad. Thankfully the tunnel entrance was in a building that hadn't been leveled by the Stanchion rounds, so the men slipped in undetected and quiet.

The cave was pitch black and had all the charm of a crypt, but light from Avis's (yet again) newly acquired helmet came on and bathed certain parts of the cave in ambient light. Upon ignition twenty bats came alive and flew straight at the men's faces. Avis ducked, feeling the air shutter as the creatures flew over him. "Damn!" Tripp and Kip yelled together, though for different reasons: Tripp hadn't ducked fast enough, and Kip had slipped on the cave's slimy floor.

"Shut it!" Avis whispered, not unkindly, but it was still an order. Kip, on your feet. Tripp…" Avis tried not to laugh, but a smile still escaped him, "clean up your helmet."

Tripp looked, and discovered a large amount of guano on his helmet. "Ah shit," he said, all too appropriately.

They moved on.

The cave twisted and turned underground in all sorts of directions, and Avis had the feeling that they were under the cliffs a lot more of the time than the camp. It also appeared to have been recently excavated, which made sense if the Covenant had wanted to plant a bomb where it couldn't be found. The path was mostly level, but at seemingly random points it sloped downhill for a good hundred yards. Just when Avis's ears began to pop, the three marines turned a corner and a light appeared in the distance, where a few short Grunt barks could be heard.

Turning his helmet lights off by thumbing a small switch, Avis signaled his men to do the same, adding the signs for _trouble ahead _and _be cautious. _Now among the shadows, they crept toward the opening the light originated from, spotting one sentry at what appeared to be a tunnel slightly smaller than the one they were currently in. The light appeared to be focused in one direction—down the smaller tunnel—which allowed Avis to get close enough to the sentry that he took out his knife.

A flick of the wrist later and the Grunt was no longer a problem.

The tunnel was low, low enough that Avis had to crouch to enter it, but it was also satisfyingly short. What he emerged in he only had seconds to see before being attacked yet again, it was well worth the glimpse.

He had entered the largest room he had ever seen, at least half a mile across and a hundred feet high; Avis hadn't realized they'd walked that deep underground. The room was cylindrical in shape, almost natural enough to look as if it belonged there, but it was too perfectly crafted to be anything but artificial. The only other clue to that fact was the wall—all the way around and all the way up, it was all covered in large glyphs, each glowing blue-white and casting long shadows everywhere.

Avis only stopped looking when a Brute grabbed his throat.

Lifted off his feet and gasping for air, Avis found himself eye to eye with the monstrous alien. While kicking reflexively Avis's boots connected with thick armor plates of orange and gold, and his attacks apparently did no damage whatsoever. The Brute also wore a headpiece the same color as his armor, a decorative thing with a large crest that sloped backwards in the center and two spikes on either side. How ironic such beautiful armor was being worn by such an ugly creature.

The Brute lifted Avis so close to its face he felt every cloud of hot moist breath in his face. The thing reminded Avis of a cross between a rhino and a gorilla, a row of long pointed teeth visible as it growled, long and deep. A bead of saliva dripped down its jaw, and with the tips of its claws poking his throat he sniffed Avis, turning his maw into a grin. "Meat tender, good meal," it said in broken English.

Panic from this statement allowed Avis to feel his hands again, and he realized he was still holding the knife. He saw the Brute preparing to lick him, to get the first taste of its prize before it struck, and it was his turn to smile. "Sorry," he gasped. "First date, no tongue."

And he plunged the knife into the Brute's temple.

With a _thud _Avis hit the floor as the Brute roared and clutched its head. The assault rifle he'd slung across his back earlier now bit into his spine as he slammed against it. A moment later something hit Avis's stomach and adrenaline rushed through his body because he thought he'd been dealt a fatal blow, but no. The Brute had merely dropped his weapon as he struggled to see through his own blood and remove the knife.

Bringing the weapon up vertically so he could use it as an impromptu staff, Avis saw it was a hammer of some kind, a handle at one end and a heavy, carved head that emitted blue light not unlike the glyphs he was surrounded by. The thing must've been nine feet in length, and Avis was already questioning whether he could lift it when he heard his knife clatter to the ground and saw the Brute lunge for him, decorative armor now smeared with blood.

Avis had no time to do anything but grab the handle of the hammer and swing. He'd been right: it was too heavy for him, but centrifugal force aided him and the massive head collided with its master's jaw. There was a snap as the Brute's neck broke, and the hammer released a loud _thud _and a blue force field of some sort that sent the Brute's carcass flying in one direction and Avis tumbling in another. When he stopped rolling Avis stared at the weapon—now a few feet away—in wonder. The device appeared to have some effect on gravity.

He walked over to the Brute's body and stared at it loathingly, picking his knife up off the floor and cleaning it on the Brute's white fur. "I'm no one's entrée," he said simply.

"The bomb Avis," Arawn said, actually sounding a bit stronger than before. "For God's sake connect me to the bomb!"

"Right," Avis said, noticing as did so that Tripp and Kip were finishing off the last of the Grunts; he'd been so engaged with the Brute and the gravity hammer he hadn't even heard them. The bomb was an ugly thing: a spike, curved burrito shape encased in what appeared to be a white-rimmed transparent case. Avis shattered the case with the butt of his rifle and plugged Arawn's processor-matrix tube into a spot above some winking blue and green lights. The lights suddenly flashed rapidly and all at once, and then stopped just as suddenly. It was over in less than a second.

"Done," Arawn said once Avis had slung the processor-matrix tube across his back so it once again hung from right shoulder to left hip. "Took your sweet time, didn't you? Do you realize you'd need a calculator the size of a Pelican to figure out how much time was left? Trilliseconds, damn it. _Trilliseconds!"_

"So," said Avis, signaling Tripp and Kip to keep an eye out for any sign of trouble—the room was huge, after all, with endless places for enemies to set up an ambush, "how much time was _really _left?"

Arawn said nothing at first, but his processor-matrix tube hummed and he eventually managed to spit out a sentence. "Ten minutes." He sounded dreadfully embarrassed. "A little more, to be completely honest. I'm sorry…you just seemed a bit nonchalant about the whole thing…bomb threatening to kill lots of people, you know, and…"

"It's fine," Avis said, cutting Arawn off. He knew neither of them wanted to admit that Arawn's outburst was probably a by-product of his degrading health, so he just let it slide. "I was acting a bit casual, I s'pose. But next time just talk to me if you're upset, alright?" He didn't wait for an answer. The glyphs began to glow more brightly. "Wow, this place is amazing…"

"Let me see," Arawn said, and a wire connection later he'd tapped into Avis's helmet camera. "Oh my…and they continue up all the way…" if Arawn had been able to breathe, he would've been breathless at the spectacle. "Alright, prop your datapad up somehow—hold the thing for all I care—and let me see as much of the room as you can manage. Don't worry about distance—I can magnify the images."

Avis did as instructed, though he was unwilling to let go of the assault rifle in light of what had happened with the Brute, so instead he leaned the datapad up against part of the wall.

It took only a few minutes to store all the glyphs in the datapad's hard drive—he didn't trust his own anymore—and Arawn could hardly speak from excitement when he was done. When he finally calmed down a little bit, he said, "This is it! The last puzzle piece! It's not perfect, to be sure—there are some dissimilarities that need to be addressed—but holy crap, this is _it_!" He was so happy he actually activated his holographic self, which looked more sickly than ever but happier too. Happier than Avis had ever seen him.

"Slow down," Avis advised. Arawn was talking very fast, almost slewing his words together. "Let's start at the beginning. These glyphs, what are they? Covenant?"

Arawn smiled at Avis like a first-grade teacher smiling at a pupil. "My dear staff sergeant, these aren't Covenant symbols, but _Forerunner_ glyphs! Direct artifacts from beings that died over a hundred thousand years ago! There have been other findings, of course, but nothing so perfect, so _complete_…" he gazed at the glyphs again, awestruck.

"Okay," Avis replied simply, clearly not understanding the importance and his excitement much lower than the AI's. "So what do they say?"

Smile shrinking a few teeth, Arawn half sighed, half coughed. "That's the snag. This is no Rosetta Stone, Avis; everything is in Forerunner, and we've never been able to translate. The closest resemblance is the Prophet's code, but it's not exact. Take this symbol for example." A hologram appeared that resembled a target superimposed on a treble cleft. "It can be broken into two Prophet symbols." The image broke apart. "One means 'holy' and the other means 'room.' I assume it's referring to a temple, but it could easily mean a church, altar or just a prayer area. See what I mean?"

Avis did, at least in part, and said as much. "But it's a start," Arawn said reassuringly. "With so many glyphs, I'll get the knack of it." He looked toward one section in particular. " 'The hum of the Portal will lead to the Ark'…yeah, knew that…wait, what's this…but I thought it was…oh damn…"

Avis was about to ask Arawn what he was talking about when a crackle came in over the COM. "Staff Sergeant Hughie, where the hell are you?" a very angry Lieutenant Rodriguez asked over the airwaves.

"In a compound under the POW camp sir," Avis answered honestly. "We got word of a bomb down here, to sabotage our operation. The two corporals and I have disarmed it." Better to leave Arawn out of it. Out of sight, out of earshot, out of mind.

"Well get your ass topside and back to Swamp Rat ASAP," Rodriguez ordered. "Lord Hood has asked for you three specifically."

"Did he say why, sir?"

"You know that ship you and your platoon were talking about? Well, it just exited Slipspace, and the Covenant are crawling all over it."

With one shout Avis, Tripp and Kip were running back up the tunnel. It was finally here, what could turn out to be the most dangerous and most important battle of the war, where casualties would be high and perilous duties abound.

None of them wanted to miss the fun.


	8. What's Mine Is Yours

**0828 hours, 26 October, 2552**

**UNSC Pelican Kilo 023**

**Somewhere under the Serengeti**

Before his platoon had rotated to the _Cairo, _Avis had been away from Earth for most of 2552. When he'd left, ONI—under the supervision of General Maxwell Kit—had already been planning for the inevitability of a Covenant attack, outlining the construction of large underground hangars, hidden bases, and the complex crisscrossing network of tunnels that connected most if not all of them. The fact that they had been completed in just a few short months was a feat unheard of before.

But such was the desperation of those on the verge of extinction.

"Arriving at the hangar in five," Hocus's voice called out through the Pelican's PA system. Avis noticed it was a lot more stiff and sour-sounding than it had been on the way down to the surface a few days ago; she didn't even bother to crack a joke. The Pelican shuddered a bit, and Avis thought he knew why. Hocus had been commissioned a new Pelican to replace the one lost at Voi, and she hadn't configured the controls yet.

Avis looked through the Pelican's windshield and saw nothing but a tunnel of dirt ahead, metal braces reinforcing it every now and then. It smacked of desperation to be running around in the dirt, hiding while an alien force made to destroy them from above. _But that'll soon change, _Avis thought. _When we blow their precious Forerunner ship out of the sky right under their noses, they'll see what we have to offer._

The only other two passengers in the Pelican were Tripp and Kip, and Avis entertained himself by watching them play the age old game of thumb wrestling. He remembered they were just a year or two younger than him, and he wondered what it was that created such a strong difference between them, as if they were separated by an invisible, impenetrable barrier.

_Command, _he realized. _The responsibilities of command. _It was hard watching men die at all, no matter how who you were or what your rank was. But knowing it was your decisions, your choices, that resulted in them being killed, that was another matter. It hardened people.

It had hardened him.

"Here we go," Hocus said from up front. "Hangar Omega this Pelican Kilo two-three. We are thirty seconds out and request permission to land. Over." Avis couldn't see Hocus, but he imagined her transmitting several security clearance codes to whoever they needed to be sent to at the hangar.

"Copy Kilo two-three," an unknown voice replied, laced with static, as the transmission was weak underground. "Clearance codes check out, and permission granted. Just follow the pretty red lights to your pad. Over and out." The one tunnel split into two up ahead, and the path on the right suddenly ignited in a trail of fluorescent lights, at first yellow but immediately turning a deep scarlet.

Hocus followed the tunnel until it dipped straight down and became a vertical shaft. Slowly Hocus used the belly jets to descend, and a minute later the dropship had slipped out of the tunnel and into light.

The difference between the darkness of the tunnel and the ambient lighting was such that by the time Avis could see again the Pelican had followed the red lights to where they ended in a circle large enough for Hocus to land in. Avis undid his safety harness and was out of the dropship almost before the back hatch had finished opening.

There he stopped, for he couldn't believe his eyes.

Two massive destroyers loomed over him—and indeed everything else—as they rested side by side and stretched back almost half a kilometer. In between them convoys of Warthogs and Scorpion tanks—many sporting trailers loaded down with supplies—moved back and forth going here to there, while in the skies Pelicans, Longsword fighters, captured Banshees and Hornet fast-attack craft moved nimbly around the many dips and protrusions of the destroyers' hulls. Also there, but with a less obvious purpose, were the most infantry Avis had ever seen in one place, at least without being separated by combat. The image was impressive; this was an army, no doubt about it.

Out of the crowd came the rest of First Platoon, looking freshly rested and ready to go. They all had smiles on their faces, and Feinst coordinated their movements between the rest of the crowd so well they appeared to be one solid entity. Then Avis saw two other people moving with them: Lord Hood and…Major General Kaffee.

They all came within earshot of each other just as Hocus took off from the landing pad again, causing a few moments of silence and covering of eyes to avoid the swirling dust. When the Pelican had entered the air traffic everyone saluted, and once the formalities were over with, Lord Hood started talking.

"Welcome to Hangar Omega Staff Sergeant, Corporals," he said, indicating Tripp and Kip, who for once were being somewhat humbled. "As you can see we've got quite a ruckus going on here, so let's go to one of the connected rooms for the briefing."

Lord Hood apparently decided to choose the closest room to where they were, and not one designed for briefings, because it was filled with cots. "I apologize for the informality of it," Hood said almost before they entered, "but we only really needed a COM center and sleeping rooms to accompany the hangar itself, so there are no offices here. But please, take a seat." He indicated the twenty or so chairs that accompanied the cots. Avis noticed General Kaffee lock the room's only door.

Once they'd gathered around in a circle so everyone could see, Lord Hood took out his datapad and tossed it in the center. "The Covenant were on the Forerunner ship as soon as it entered the system," he began, and the datapad warmed to life and showed several Covenant ships surrounding the large Forerunner one, dwarfed by the construct's immense size. "Within minutes half their fleet had entered through a large hole—like a gate—that just seemed to open up of its own accord." The datapad's hologram changed to reflect the Admiral's words.

General Kaffee took over at that point. "It's not like we weren't expecting this, of course, but the real twist was when we got contact from the _Radcliffe, _Admiral Harper's flagship. Apparently they made contact with the Forerunner ship before the Slipspace jump, and when they saw the Covenant fleet bearing down on them they hightailed it out of there. They're currently hiding behind the moon.

"That's not all. According to the _Radcliffe_'s AI, Admiral Harper and most of his senior officers are onboard somewhere in the ship, being held captive because the Forerunner ship's primary mission is apparently to get all humans into the city and then destroy Earth." A rumble of unease circuited around the group, and when it passed through Avis it felt like someone was blasting music too close to his chest. Arawn's processor-matrix tube hummed, indicating he was paying closer attention.

"As if things couldn't get any more complicated," Lord Hood said, "it seems the Covenant aren't welcome on the Forerunner ship. No sooner were the Covenant unloading troops then they came under attack from some sort of robots, which the _Radcliffe_'s AI says are called Sentinels."

"That doesn't make sense," Arawn whispered in Avis's ears. "Why would the Covenant not be welcome if we were meant to work together? Maybe that's why only a human could activate Halo…unless…" but he was drowned out by Lord Hood, who continued the briefing.

"What's happened in the last hour has just served to make a complicated situation all the worse. We believe the Covenant is adamant about searching the ship and trying to locate the mechanism that will transport them to start their so-called Great Journey. So we have to stop that, destroy the power core—indirectly destroying the Forerunner ship—and rescue the _Radcliffe_'s crew, on top of the Flood infestation."

Several men suddenly started coughing; the ones that had been drinking out of their canteens spit out water and made the hologram flicker. "Did you just say," began Swider, "that there are Flood onboard that thing?"

Lord Hood appeared to realize quite suddenly that he _had _said that, and his normally pale cheeks turned bright red. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he said, almost as if he were apologizing. "But I suppose you might as well hear it all now. Yes, there are supposedly a few Flood onboard the ship. However I have been reassured that the city itself is under no threat, and that the Sentinels are in the process of containment."

"Like they have been for the last hundred thousand years," Arawn muttered.

Hood sighed. "We've come up with a plan, but…as you know, Staff Sergeant, resources are limited. I have to wage a guerilla war down here with the ground troops. Still, I've been able to scrounge up four destroyers, six hundred pilots and five thousand troops, counting the ones you liberated from the Covenant POW camp."

Avis nodded, disappointed at the numbers. The Covenant presence would be fifty times that, at least. But it was hard to complain; you had to take what you could get. "Thank you for your assistance, Lord Hood. What is the plan?"

The datapad's hologram changed to accommodate four human ships. Standing to his full height, Lord Hood looked like a ghost as he reflected the blue-white light. "Our destroyers will fire on the Covenant ships, draw them out into open space; they'll have no choice if they don't want to be shot like fish in a barrel." The hologram did just that, destroying one ship before the others escaped. "With their orbital support engaged the troops will deploy into the city, try to grab a foothold and punch through to the power core." The hologram switched to troops bravely fighting their way to the center core, taller than any other building in the city.

General Kaffee took over again. "While the ground troops do that your platoon will breach the Forerunner ship and search for the _Radcliffe_'s crew, who should be in the ship's command center. The Sentinels appear to be human friendly, so that's a break at least. Evacuate them, and hopefully by then the engineers we have will have attached explosives to the power core and we can leave and destroy whatever's left inside. Flood, Covenant, whatever. All gone."

"General Kaffee will have ground control," Lord Hood added. "Staff Sergeant, you're directly under General Kaffee's command. Take orders from no one but him. I'll be on the _Cairo. _The Covenant think they disabled the orbital platforms, but they were in such a rush to start digging on the surface they didn't fry them all to a crisp. We've got about fifty left effective. If everything goes south I'll order them all to fire. Scotty said it was a long shot, but that's better than nothing."

Everyone nodded, becoming more and more aware of what was at stake, and how seemingly desperate this plan was. Still, like Lord Hood had said, it was better than nothing. "Preparations should be done within an hour or so," General Kaffee said. "And we're going to launch as soon as possible. So gear up, get squared away, and meet up with Hocus; she'll be your ride."

"Yes sir," First Platoon answered in unison, rising and saluting. The two officers saluted back, and the marines made for the door.  
"Staff Sergeant, may I speak with you for a moment?"

It was General Kaffee that had asked. Avis really didn't have much of a choice, question or not, so he answered in the affirmative and stayed behind while the rest of his platoon and Lord Hood exited. Arawn's processor-matrix tube hummed again, and Avis knew they were thinking the same thing: this conversation was not going to go well.

"Close the hatch and have a seat," Kaffee ordered, and Avis shut the door and pulled up the first chair he could reach. Kaffee sat opposite him. "Congratulations on disarming that bomb," he started off. "You saved a lot of lives. I'm curious, though: how did you know it was there exactly?"

When Avis spoke he hadn't realized his throat had gone so dry; his voice was hoarse. "Scotty detected it, informed me, and we neutralized the threat," he said. "We took Tripp and Kip as backup."  
"I see," General Kaffee said, as if he had been expecting this answer all along. "And you didn't inform Lieutenant Rodriguez, or the COM center at Swamp Rat, or anyone? Rodriguez was about to put you on the MIA list."

"There wasn't any time sir," Avis replied. "We thought we had an imminent threat. Intel was time sensitive, and if we had waited the POW camp might have been destroyed."

"The fact of the matter is you completely disregarded the chain of command," Kaffee said, face and tone growing sterner all the time. "I realize you were the top dog for a few days, Staff Sergeant, and you and your little computer friend had quite an adventure during your freedom. But you're still in the UNSC, soldier. That means you report to _me. _Not to your platoon, not to Scotty, and _not_ to yourself. You read me son?"

Avis stiffened at the sudden criticism, realizing that a large part of it was true. He had been a bit reckless recently, there was no doubt about it. "Sir, yes sir."

"Good." General Kaffee took a breath. "Now, as your commanding officer, I order you to hand that AI over to me. I'm in charge, and I need real time intel." He held out his hand, palm up, expectantly.

Avis's hand twitched toward the processor-matrix tube's strap, marine training to always follow orders egging him on, but hesitated again. He was damn reluctant to relinquish Arawn for a number of obvious reasons, but he also…well he'd grown attached to the AI, annoying as he was sometimes.

"I can't sir," he said, almost before realizing the words were coming out of his mouth. "I know I have to, but I can't all the same. I'm afraid Arawn stays with me."

He expected General Kaffee to insist on it, even start yelling, but a look of puzzlement came onto his face. "Arawn?" he asked. "Did you say Arawn?"  
_Oh damn, _Avis thought, the realization he'd screwed up hitting him like a ton of bricks. "There's nothing for it now," Arawn said over the COM, and Avis took his datapad out, knowing what the AI wanted to do. The AI materialized on the datapad an instant later. "Morning General," he said cheerfully enough. "Nice to see you again."

By now really confused, Avis almost missed the look of surprise of Kaffee's face. "You!" he gasped. "It's been _you _the whole time? But you…you went rampant!"

"Oh please," Arawn said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his holographic hand. "Rampant? Psh. Just on vacation. I'm neither sad nor angry nor jealous, General. Just a little tired of ONI's cloak and dagger BS. Obviously you were too, or did General Kit just get tired of his Chief of Staff?"

Kaffee ignored the question. "You're erased," he said. "Once I get that little home of yours, I'm going to erase every last byte of you. You've caused me enough problems, chasing you around for eight months—"

"Oh so _that's _why," Arawn said. "Dear Maxwell put you in charge of finding me, but you failed. Well you got close, Kaffee, I'll give you that. But I think the hunt's come to an end for both of us. You're going to let me stay with Avis, and go on your merry way."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because if you don't I've planted enough leads to accounts in various brothels that your wife is bound to believe one eventually. I've also taken the liberty of laundering those funds from your various ONI projects. If your wife doesn't kick you out, she'll divorce you when you're in Leavenworth."

General Kaffee didn't say much for a while, just glared at Arawn with pure hatred. "I thought God had done me a favor, keeping me alive after the Slipspace Incident with just a few scars on my back," he finally said. "But now I'm being blackmailed by a ghost from the past. Fine, Arawn, you win. Get onboard your Pelican and get out of my sight."

Avis tucked the datapad back into his gear and saluted the general, who didn't bother to salute back. Without another word Avis slipped away and began the walk to the launch hangars of the two destroyers, heart pounding. "Lucky you had some dirt on Kaffee," he told Arawn.

"Lucky nothing," the AI replied. "I've been compiling stuff to blackmail all of the UNSC's senior brass for months, just in case. I had to do _something _while on the run, after all."

"You didn't tell me you knew General Kaffee."

"And you didn't ask," the AI snapped back. There was a brief pause. "I didn't mention it because it didn't matter until just now. Remember what his damn virus did? What it's _doing_? Not a part of my life I'd bring up at cocktail parties."

"Would you even be caught dead at a cocktail party?"

"Good point."

Avis thought about it for a moment, and added, "Sorry to bring it up."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I always had fun pissing Kaffee off, so I'm glad I got another chance to do it before I go."

Ten minutes walk later they found Kilo two-three, locked into the left destroyer and waiting to leave. The rest of First Platoon was sitting in the back already, and Avis joined them quietly, not wanting to interrupt their conversations.

In what seemed like no time at all there was a deep _thrum _as the destroyers ignited their engines and the giant hangar doors opened, beginning the journey into space. Hocus was keeping the back hatch open until they were ten thousand feet up—to minimize the risk of overheating in the passenger compartment—and Avis saw Lord Hood's personal Pelican drift off to wherever the _Cairo _was in orbit. It suddenly occurred to Avis that he might've just seen Hood for the last time, but that was such a lame clichéd thought he got rid of it almost immediately.

"Avis," Arawn said, and he sounded genuinely shocked. "Something's just happened…I can't believe it…maybe my translation software's not up to par because of the virus, but…wow."

"What?" Avis asked. "What _else _is going on?"

"Well," Arawn said, "if you thought _that_," he played a video clip of Avis's encounter with the Brute under the POW camp "was bad, just wait. It gets worse."

_Scene Transition_

_Reason and Intent_'s cargo hold was dark when Wewaw and the Engineer stepped off of the grav lift—the Brutes had limited power to nonessential areas to preserve combat effectiveness. Despite that Wewaw's eyes—which were well suited for night vision—made out the silhouettes of weapon crates and food supply palettes that were stacked haphazardly all around. Just as Wewaw began to wish for a light source the cargo hold was illuminated, and Wewaw turned to see the Engineer next to an electrical panel, wires crossed to complete the circuit.

_Thanks, _the Grunt signed, and the Engineer responded with a quick chirp. The two had gotten to know each other quite well in the past few units, despite the slight language barrier. Wewaw knew Engineers were named based on how well they took to the gases that filled them, so it hardly came as a surprise that when he'd asked the Engineer his name, the alien had responded with _Naturally Buoyant. _

Shaking himself out of the distraction, Wewaw turned to look at the mounds of cargo that lay before him. He had no idea where they were, so he decided to simply talk to them. " 'Romamee? It's safe to come out. We came alone."

Seemingly out of nowhere five Elites shimmered into existence, 'Romamee at their head. Though he was wearing his brilliant golden armor, all the others were wearing either red or blue. They each held two plasma rifles, and three were sweeping them from side to side, making sure what Wewaw had said about coming alone was true.

"Welcome back 'Romamee," Wewaw said, half-bowing. 'Romamee was touched that the Grunt would extend such courtesy, but he was equally annoyed that he'd had to sneak aboard his own ship. The Brutes would pay…and that Prophet too, if 'Romamee had his way.

"We have come as you requested," the Elite told Wewaw. "Do you know where the crystal is? Time is of the essence, and I feel every second is vital to our survival." His green eyes blazed with excitement. There had been rumors of a similar crystal found on the world the humans called 'Reeech', and if the two were connected this one could have some if not all of the same physics-bending properties of its brother. Such an object would be invaluable if war with the Brutes was inevitable. With the entire Covenant against them, they would need every advantage they could get.

Wewaw signed with the Engineer for a minute before answering. "Naturally Buoyant knows where the stone is located, just a few halls over. It is heavily guarded, but they are lazy and prone to sleep. We will show you the way." He made for the door, Naturally Buoyant at his side.

"Very well," 'Romamee said. He turned to face his Elites. "Camouflage on from here until we have the crystal. Stay behind me, keep your eyes open for signs of trouble. You know what to do if we get company: hug the walls, keep weapons on the target. No one shoots until I do. Then we all shoot." He shimmered out of existence, only a slight disturbance in the air to mark where he was. A moment later and the others followed suit, allowing Naturally Buoyant to leave the cargo hold and continue.

The passages were abnormally dim and foreboding as they silently walked through them, only the occasional passing Hunter or Jackal to notice. The one time a Brute did walk by 'Romamee's team stayed perfectly silent, positioning themselves near air vents so even the slight shimmer wouldn't be out of place. Ignoring Wewaw and Naturally Buoyant like they weren't there, the Brute lumbered on, and when it had rounded a corner they continued.

A few minutes later they stopped outside a door that looked no different from any other, and 'Romamee reflected that it probably _wasn't _different than any other, only that it hid what they were looking for. Naturally Buoyant signed to Wewaw, who said, "Yes, this is the place. He says…we should be allowed to enter, because Engineers come to study the stone all the time. He will attempt to do that while you get in position to strike."

'Romamee nodded, but Wewaw couldn't see that with the camouflage engaged, so he said, "Thank him for me, Wewaw." However, a series of sputters from Naturally Buoyant told 'Romamee he'd gotten the message, interpreter or not.

Bobbing along on the air currents, Naturally Buoyant floated through the door—which opened for him automatically—and one by one, very slowly, the Elites followed. It wasn't a large room, probably making it all the more inconspicuous, and in the center sat the crystal on a tall violet pedestal, not shifting through various shapes but rather calm in a prism shape.

Standing guard around it were two Brutes, with four more in the corners. However, Naturally Buoyant had been correct: they were not keeping an eye out or standing at attention. All were slouching to some degree, two had droopy eyes, and one was relieving itself over in its corner.

Barely paying the Engineer and Grunt any attention, they were however quick to react when the occupied one was beaten over the head and fell to the ground. It was still too late. Within seconds all the Brutes were dead, not a shot fired and not an alarm raised.

"Clear," one of the lesser Elites said, and all five disengaged their camouflage and gathered around the pedestal. There it was, small enough to fit into the palm of 'Romamee's hand. Not seeing any security shielding or laser alarms, he grabbed the crystal and put it into a small fabric pouch.

"Too easy," he said, looking at the pouch as if he could see through it to the crystal inside. "Did the Brutes send that many to the city? It would be like them to rush to where the action is. But soon they will learn the importance of guarding Ancient tools of this value, and what happens when they don't. Come, let us get back to—" he paused to hear the message that came over his COM. "We're receiving a message from _Holy Fortitude. _Audio only. Broadcasting on speakers." A moment later the room filled with another Elite's voice.

"Ship Master!" the panicked voice said, "_Reason and Intent _had warmed her plasma turrets. They mean to…firing! They have fired on us! Too late to maneuver…by the Forerunners…arghh…" a rush of static ended the transmission.

"All Elite controlled ships leave the system!" 'Romamee ordered. "Jump quickly, and to where it is safe. Tell Fleet Master 'Ulsamee to muster a rally point. Go!" All over transmissions came in, and from them 'Romamee knew all but three of the ships—_Holy Fortitude _and two others—had made it. The ones that didn't had been destroyed.

'Romamee wanted to roar in frustration, and he knew the other Elites wanted to as well, but doing so would've given away their position. "Outrageous," he simply muttered, golden armor shaking with anger. "Outrageous. The Prophets were fools to trust them. When they learn of this treachery—"

"Ship Master," one of the Elites in red armor said, "I hear Brutes approaching!"

"Stealth mode now," commanded 'Romamee, disappearing as he did. "Hug the walls. We are too outnumbered to make a stand. Duplicity will be our ally." Naturally Buoyant and Wewaw hid behind a crate, and the last Elite got to his hiding spot just as the door opened and Brutes spilled in.

Weapons drawn, they nonetheless stayed near each other, which to 'Romamee was a good sign, as it indicated they weren't sure where their opponents were. This was confirmed when a Brute 'Romamee recognized as Arius said, "Stay together; they have camouflage. We will have to flush them out." He was wearing his yellow Brute Captain armor.

"Allow me," another Brute said, and again 'Romamee recognized it: Antioch, the one that had been ever so zealous to start killing Elites. He was carrying a bandolier that was weighed down with what appeared to be a dozen small orange orbs, and though he'd never seen one before 'Romamee could guess what they were: incendiary grenades.

Without waiting for permission Antioch tossed one randomly, where it connected with the wall. The fragile case cracked, and the incendiary gel inside exploded into flame, producing a small fireball that burned a section of the wall for a number of seconds. When it was over all that remained was a charred spot, and everyone there, Brute, Elite, Grunt and Engineer, knew what would happen if one of those things found an organism. It would not be pretty.

Slowly, ever so slowly, 'Romamee holstered his plasma rifles and reached for his energy sword, wondering why the act felt wrong. Then he realized his wrist felt a little light, and looking across the room he saw the pouch not five feet from Antioch's large feet.

As if things couldn't get any _more _complicated.

"Stop!" Arius bellowed, thick cords of muscle in his torso becoming more prominent as his chest expanded. "Fool, the stone is gone! One of them must have it! You risk damaging or destroying it! What would the Prophets think of you then? They would have your head!"

Antioch threw another grenade, and this one landed within five feet of one of 'Romamee's Elites. "Let them try," he said. "Were it not for the promise of the Great Journey, we would've taken over the Covenant long ago." He tossed a third grenade, and 'Romamee could almost feel the squad's luck at not getting hit running out with every blast. "Come out cowards!" Antioch roared. "If your race is as proud as you claim, face us on a field of battle!" Another fireball exploded.

From where he was, 'Romamee could see Wewaw and Naturally Buoyant behind the crate, the former trying to stop himself from quaking as he held a small plasma pistol; his only defense. Naturally Buoyant, on the other hand, was taking action. He had a found an electrical panel and was messing with the cables, waiting to cut the power.

Naturally Buoyant looked to where 'Romamee was, almost as if he could see straight through the Elite's camouflage. 'Romamee nodded, and a moment later everything went dark, the only illumination coming from the glow of Antioch's incendiary grenades.

With a mighty roar 'Romamee leapt forward, igniting his energy sword as he did. It was easy to see the sword, contrasted against the dark, and Antioch threw a grenade at him. His throw was staggered, however, and short, allowing 'Romamee to leap over the flames even as they licked at his shields. Brutes roared in confusion as plasma fire from the others poured in on them, and 'Romamee felt fur and sliced. A slight pressure as the weapon dissected the Brute's flesh was all 'Romamee felt.

Though the skirmish was small and quick, the darkness made it as confusing as any fully fledged battle. Brutes were roaring in pain, the hum of the door opening sounding like a small bell, 'Romamee also heard a _blurp _that sounded like it was coming from Naturally Buoyant, and finally a squeal that could've been a pained Wewaw. When the last weapon had ceased firing, 'Romamee walked over to the electrical panel and, by the light of his sword, reconnected the two wires Naturally Buoyant had severed.

Four Brutes lay dead on the ground, one killed by 'Romamee's sword and the rest by plasma fire. The Elite noticed interestingly that none of them were Arius or Antioch. When he mentioned this to his team, one said, "They fled, Ship Master, on all fours with another of their pack. The Grunt tried to stop them." He pointed to Wewaw, who was slumped against the wall, dazed but unharmed.

"Knocked him aside like he was driftwood," 'Romamee muttered. Then he noticed something else. "The crystal, where is the crystal? Do the Brutes have it?"

"No, Ship Master," Wewaw wheezed, struggling to his feet. "I saw it clearly; my eyes are well suited for the dark. Naturally Buoyant snatched it up in the confusion, floating out after the Brutes that fled."

'Romamee sighed. After all that, they had failed to maintain custody of the precious artifact they had come to seek? No, _he _had failed to hold onto it. And now it was in the control of an Engineer who appeared to have a motive of its own.

"Very well," he said. "Our differences with the Prophets must be put on hold. The Brutes are our enemy now. We will go to them, tell them of the Brutes' treachery, and maybe with their assistance we will—" he stopped, for the Prophet of Sorrow had suddenly appeared on the holopad.

"My fellow believers, the hour of Reclamation is upon us," he preached. "For millennia we followed in the footsteps of the Gods, blessed by what they left behind for us, and now, when our conviction was most tested, we were rewarded by the appearance of the Ancients' vessel! With it we shall go to where the Great Journey will begin, and all believers will be welcomed into transcendence by the Almighty!

"Alas, conviction has left us with a terrible burden, brothers. For most of our time we believed the Elites to be our allies, as strong in their affirmations as us all. However, recent events have shown us the opposite, and with the Great Journey upon us, the weight of their heresy will stay their feet, and they shall be left behind.

"By order of the High Prophet of Truth, all Elites are to be executed on sight, as any heretic who would subvert the Holy Path should be. With our most faithful, the Brutes, at our helm, this heresy shall be resolved quickly. Go and cleanse, my brothers, and may your belief guide you to Salvation!"

Enraged, 'Romamee sliced through the holopad with his sword, destroying it in a burst of sparks. "Of course the Prophets ordered it," he said. "The Brutes are too devout to go against their will—we all knew that. Treachery of the highest level…the Great Journey is nothing more than a lie…" he stopped. "Our fight is in the city," he concluded. "That is where the Engineer will have gone, to get the stone off a Brute ship. Am I correct, Wewaw?"

Wewaw nodded. "That is what is most logical, 'Romamee," he said. "And Engineers are nothing if not logical."

Nodding, 'Romamee deactivated his energy sword. "Then that is what we will do. Our fleet is hiding, so we will steal a Phantom, go to the city, and escort the Engineer where he wants to go. And if we meet Callius, his Brutes, or the Prophet of Sorrow along the way," he concluded, "the worse off they are. Now we must hurry, before the ship chooses to leave the city."

Active camouflage engaged once again, the five Elites hurried out of the room and in search of the nearest hangar, plasma rifles out and Wewaw struggling to keep up with their lengthy strides.

_Scene Transition_

In all honesty there wasn't much for Hocus to do at the moment. The marines were secure, the Pelican was armed and ready to fly, and Hocus and her crew were ready to get knee deep into some hardcore dogfights. But that would have to wait, because Hocus, like many of her fellow pilots and their Pelicans, were being transported to the fight onboard the destroyer _Roo Nicolette. _

Normally stored in hangars, the latest UNSC trick was to place dropships and Longsword fighters upon racks that were exposed to space, allowing for faster deployment in a combat scenario. There was only one row per ship, but seeing as each ship was almost half a kilometer long, the four destroyers were more than enough to secure every dropship and Longsword available.

Because of this configuration, Hocus was able to see their destination long before they got there, an enormous construct at least the size of Russia. At least, Hocus thought it was similar to the size of Russia; to her it almost looked to have no definite shape, which made her head hurt looking at it. So instead, she focused her attention on the twenty or so Covenant ships that had entered into the city, which was protected by only a dark blue film of some sort, almost like a Covenant shield.

"Recon just confirmed it," Rugan, her copilot, said over the COM. "Several Covenant ships jumped after one ship fired on another. Looks like the intelligence Staff Sergeant Hughie gave FLEETCOM was accurate: things are not cozy between the Elites and the rest of the Covenant."

"Hell," added Crew Chief Mayberry, "that's a polite way of putting it. Sounds like they've got a damn civil war on their hands."

Hocus had to admit, Mayberry had hit the nail on the head. One ship was friendly fire, maybe, but they'd seen three ships blown out of existence. That's not friendly fire in the least. That's an act of war. "Doesn't affect the price of rice though," she said. "Our job's the same: get to the energy core, blow everything up. I don't care who's having a temper tantrum in the Covenant."

The COM whined and crackled, and Hocus slapped the unit with a gloved hand. Every Pelican had unique attributes, little quirks that made them special, and it was a pilot's job to refine them and make them workable. Kilo two-three was still new to her, and she hadn't worked out all the bugs yet. _Not like Foxtrot three-two-seven, _she thought with a reminiscent smile. _I knew her like the back of my hand. _Still, Hocus had to admit, Kilo two-three was a sturdy bird. She could learn to love it.

Maybe.

With the COM finally working properly again, Hocus tuned in to the _Roo Nicolette_'s bridge, where they were preparing to fire on the Covenant ships. "Both MACs ready?" her captain asked.

"Yes Captain," an officer responded. "But what if they impact against that blue shield?"  
"Then you'd better hope it's not a shield," the captain responded. "Confirmation from Lord Hood?"

A different man answered this time. "Just came in, sir. The order is fire at will."

"Blow 'em to hell Commander."

Two loud _booms _echoed on both the COM and throughout the ship, and several white streaks from all four destroyers sped toward the Covenant ships inside the city. Everyone held their breath as the rounds approached the blue shield…and passed through it like it wasn't there, smacking into the Covenant ships. Around six listed from the impact, and four were gutted, shrapnel raining down on the city and all the troops already in it.

The remaining ships didn't stick around for round two. Just as predicted their engines warmed and they sped through the blue shield—which Hocus guessed kept the atmosphere in the city when the gate was open—and moved toward the destroyers, plasma turrets warming.

"All ships begin evasive maneuvers," Lord Hood ordered over the COM. "Single ships and dropships, detach now. Get to the city. Longswords, you're on escort duty."

Hocus tapped a few keys on the Pelican's control pad and the dropship let go of the rack it was attached to, the _Roo Nicolette _accelerating away as soon as they were two separate entities. Simultaneously the Covenant ships launched their Seraphs and Phantoms. "Fasten your seatbelts, we're going in a little hot!" she yelled over the COM before cursing under her breath. But she smiled as she swore, because for all the danger involved, this was her element. Not even the Covenant could touch her.

She gunned the thrusters and activated her chin guns.

Plasma blasted past her on all sides, but she knew where she was going, and knew how to get there. It was almost like a sixth sense, an instinct combined with years of flight experience that enabled her to tell which way was the safest. She dived and rolled and twisted through enemy fire, outnumbered fifty to one, destroying only what got in the way, not trying to hit anything. All around she felt Seraphs, Longswords, Phantoms and other Pelicans end up as debris floating in vacuum, but not her, not Hocus and Kilo two-three. They were unstoppable.

Then they were through the flight line, past the majority of the Covenant single ship defenses, and Hocus took a look at the external cameras, noting that a significant amount of UNSC craft had made it through; more than she'd expected. Almost as an afterthought, she wondered if the fact that the Elites were no longer piloting might have had anything to do with it.

_Apparently these Brutes have all the grace of a three-legged elephant_, she thought.

"We're away Captain," she told the commanding officer of the _Roo Nicolette. _"Ready to watch the fireworks."

"Roger Kilo two-three," the captain said. "Commander, light the Roman candles."

Three HAVOK nuclear warheads exploded in the middle of the Covenant fighters, slipped in during the initial skirmish when the Covenant hadn't been looking. The effect was instantaneous, like spraying a can of nerve gas at a cloud of gnats. One moment they filled Hocus's screen, the next they were scattered and few.

"Much obliged Captain," Hocus said. "Keep your head down out there."

The _Roo Nicolette _activated its emergency thrusters, just missing a plasma torpedo that, rather than come back around, collided with the cloud of debris from the remnants of the fighters, dissipating. "We'll do our best," the captain said, with that tone of voice that just implied he had a smile on his face.

Due to the Forerunner ship's enormous size, it looked closer to Earth than it was. Only after ten minutes of flying at several thousand miles per hour did the ship show up on Hocus's tactical readout as opposed to just her long range radar.

"All single ships, form up," Hocus called into her boom mike. Normally rank dictated command, but because Hocus had almost twice as much flight time as any other pilot, Lord Hood had granted her a temporary field promotion to Lieutenant. "Give me standard goose with Jessup on point. We're going to have a lot of company going in, so take the first wave out, drop your cargo off, and work on what's left. Clear?"

"Yes ma'am," a number of voices acknowledged. The ships maneuvered into a V-pattern and flew into the blue barrier like it wasn't there. For a moment everything was distorted, but then they were through, and several Banshees and Phantoms were flying at them.

As one the UNSC ships fired, and their Covenant counterparts fell from the sky in droves. When the last exploded in a brilliant fireball strafing runs began on the infantry and land based vehicles around the vast city. Within fifteen minutes an LZ had been cleared, the first ODSTs were sent ahead to secure it, and supplies began to land.

Hocus had never seen such a vast mobilization. Pelicans landed, spilled out their cargo—be it troops, Warthogs or Scorpion tanks—and took off again immediately. The larger Albatross transports came down on four huge vertical jets that were attached to four pillars that made up the vehicles' corners, and two or three Warthogs, Scorpion tanks or Banshees would appear and quickly get ready to attack. Infantry were running all over the place, jumping in vehicles and moving out to gain as much ground as possible. It was a massive effort, and the convoy of UNSC ships just kept coming.

Banking into a turn, Hocus spotted what was at the center of all this: the Forerunner power core, separated from the LZ by twenty five miles and a quarter million Covenant troops. It towered over the rest of the tall spires that made up the city's buildings, and at the altitude Hocus was at the glowing blue core was at her eye level. In a desperate attempt to end this quickly she fired three of her Anvil-II missiles at the core, where they appeared to impact harmlessly against the side.

"We assumed as much," General Kaffee said when she radioed in her attempt. "Based on what happened on Coral we knew even a nuclear detonation may not have the desired effect. It'll have to be destroyed on the inside." A minute later he added, "Foothold secure. Kilo two-three, time to drop off your load."

"Wilco," she said, exiting the city and the battle in it the same way she had come. Holmes had marked where the _Radcliffe_'s crew had breached the ship with a NAV point, and she came to rest just above the Lionfish, micro thrusters throughout the Pelican's hull keeping her in one place in the zero-gee environment.

"Decompressing the back compartment," she said over the PA. "No need to start off the day with explosive decompression." When her sensors gave her the green light, she nodded to herself. "Hatch is open. Good luck guys. Get them back safe."

"Thanks Hocus," Avis replied. "If we need a ride?"

"You just call," she said. "We do pick-ups for free."

Thirty seconds later and she was out of First Platoon's sight.

Avis and his platoon, all in EVA suits, floated about two meters above the Lionfish, trying not to move should the most unconscious gesture send them into an uncontrollable spin. Slowly Avis grabbed the ever useful winch from his belt, activating the powerful electromagnets that sent it smacking into one of the rescue craft, the other end tied to his suit. When that was done he grabbed Sergeant Feinst's arm, who in turn grabbed Swider, who in turn grabbed Soda, and so on, until the entire platoon looked like a giant deformed snake. Avis activated the winch, grabbed hold of the Lionfish, and they were secure.

"Charges," Avis said, and Soda grabbed two bars of C-12 explosive out of the pack he was carrying, placing them on the Lionfish and applying the metal detonators with ease. The 'snake' then swung around, out of the blast area, and Avis hit the detonation button.

A section of the Lionfish popped off soundlessly, floating away into space.

Avis grabbed the lip of the hole and recovered the winch, handing it to Haverson, who was seventh in line. "Repeat this at the other Lionfish," the staff sergeant ordered. "No more than six per craft. See you inside." He slowly pulled himself in, followed by Feinst, Swider, Soda, Ruggins and Barth.

He punched a code on the Lionfish's code pad, and a soft foam cased over the breach, the cold temperatures of space freezing it as soon as it covered the hole, creating an airtight seal. Avis was first through the Lionfish's tail, as he was sure the _Radcliffe_'s men had done days ago, and with his MA5B rifle in one hand he climbed into the Forerunner ship, ready to strike if need be.

There was no need, so he tapped the COM twice, giving the all clear signal. Feinst and the rest of his team were soon to follow, and within a few minutes his whole platoon had reassembled. "No sign of life forms nearby; sensors are green across the board. You're safe for the moment," Arawn said.

"That'd be a first," Avis replied. "Atmosphere?"

"Breathable. But in the event of a loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will deploy in front of you."

"Funny," Avis said, scanning for any sign of trouble, something Arawn might've missed. "Seriously, though, we're clear?"

"Yes," said the AI. "Feel free to get rid of those ugly things."

To the platoon's joy Avis had one group remove the spacesuits—revealing their armor underneath—while the others kept guard, then switching the roles. "Squared away?" Avis asked everyone, and received affirmative answers. "Alright, you know the mission: find Admiral Harper and his crew, get them out of the hot zone. Remember, Flood threat is critical. If anyone sees _anything _that looks like it's moving, I want to know ASAP. We all need to cover each other's backs in here."

The light was a bit dimmer than he was used to, but with the aid of the flashlight attached to the underside of his MA5B's barrel, Avis spotted a discarded protein bar wrapper toward the hallway down to the right, and decided to head that way.

They walked slowly, always looking forward, behind, above, and to the sides to ensure nothing was able to sneak up on them. Together their flashlight beams covered a lot of ground, but every now and then someone thought they saw a shadow flicker and everyone would be focused on that spot, only to find nothing and continue on their way. In this manner they continued for half an hour, until Soda said, "Sir, on the ground, fifty meters ahead. Contacts, not moving."

Looking, Avis spotted three or four lumps lying on the ground, and the platoon moved eagerly toward them, like treasure hunters approaching the only clue they'd ever come across. To their surprise it was a Covenant scout party: a Brute, three Grunts and a Jackal, all clearly dead.

"What the hell happened to them?" Swider asked of no one, bending down to examine the wide holes that had burned clean through their chests, and in some cases burned their whole sides away. "Flood?"

"If they were Flood we would've met them in a more active role," Feinst said, dark humor echoing off the walls. "Looks to me they were burned through with some kind of laser beam. Maybe our Sentinel friends."

"Either way, it means Covenant have figured out how to get into places other than the city, just as we have," Avis remarked. "Stay sharp. Arawn, any idea where to go from here?"

"I've been in touch with Holmes," the AI said. "He's managed to gather some schematics to analyze, but it appears the Flood corrupted some data during their stay here. Still, I think the Control Room is here." He placed a NAV point on Avis's eye screen, a smaller, more primitive version of the HUD found in ODST helmets. "Just keep going; I'll get you there."

"Backseat driver," Avis muttered jokingly, just loud enough for his boom mike to pick up so Arawn could hear it. "Alright men, we're moving again. On me." And so they began their painfully slow walk down the hallways of the Forerunner ship once again.

It wasn't long before Avis picked up faint _whirs _and _clicks, _and he kept his rifle level all the more diligently. As the platoon rounded a corner they came upon creatures Avis assumed were Sentinels. They consisted of a small body with three metal arms that were angled so that together they looked like an upside down triangle. There were four Sentinels, and all were focusing their attention on a holoprojector of some sort, shooting quick bursts of green energy into it, which apparently helped to repair it.

With a final effort one Sentinel floated off with the holoprojector in its grasp, and another turned and saw the marines. It gave a _whir _of surprise before floating closer, slow enough that Avis didn't shoot them out of suspicion. It came within inches of his face, whirring and chirping like no tomorrow, and all Avis could respond with was, "…Hi."

The Sentinel was silent for a moment, and then began to talk really fast, as if every word might be its last. "Hiiiiii…Ave, Salve, Salvete, Na, Nupai, Walama, Konnichiwa, Hola, Bonjour, Dag, Morgen, Salaam, Aloha, Hoi, Hua…_hello. _Match found. English, standard, accent tones indicate North American dialect. Subroutines reconfigured."

"Glad we finally got that sorted out," Avis said. "Er…we _did _get that sorted out, right?"

"Affirmative," said the Sentinel. "Language subroutines have been properly reconfigured to match your native tongue. Greetings and welcome to _Construct Four, _Reclaimers. This way please," and he floated down the corridor, the two others moving behind First Platoon and somewhat egging the marines on. Avis figured at least he'd gotten one talking, so he followed the bobbing Sentinel obediently.

"Look," he said in an attempt to reach an understanding with the alien machine, "we have instructions to go to the Control Room, and—"

"We are going to the Control Room, Reclaimer," the Sentinel replied without looking at him…at least, Avis was pretty sure the Sentinel wasn't looking at him. He had no idea where the thing saw out of. "As you are aware, that is protocol." And it refused to say another word.

Half an hour later the large door to the Control Room slowly opened, and First Platoon entered almost soundlessly. At first they were stunned by the massive holographic map of the city—which was currently shifting through various scenes of the ongoing battle—but were snapped out of their awe by the sudden rise of forty or so men and women dressed in white Navy uniforms from the ground, Admiral Harper at their head. Avis and his men didn't salute, as this was considered a combat zone, but the staff sergeant showed his respect by shaking Harper's hand.

"Sir, I'm Staff Sergeant Hughie, CO of First Platoon," Avis said, wanting to get the formalities out of the way as quickly as possible. "We're here to get you and your personnel out of the hot zone."

"Oh hello," a small orb that looked nothing like a Sentinel said, seeming to float down from the heavens themselves. "I am 049 Futile Atonement, Monitor of this construct. Reclaimer, I had no idea any other passengers had made it this far into the ship."

Avis was about to respond when one of the naval officers, a Commander, answered. "There would've been more, but I think they're a little busy dealing with the Covenant."

"Yes," 049 Futile Atonement agreed dejectedly, "the others. Such a shame. I do hate to kill such important sentient beings, given their role, but protocol is very clear: if a species other than those native to Earth attempts to board, defensive action must be taken. Protocol is protocol, after all." And he began to hum.

"Does it always make absolutely sense?" Avis asked no one in particular.

"You get used to it," Admiral Harper answered. "Now, Staff Sergeant, you were saying something about getting out of here?"  
"Evacuate?" asked 049 Futile Atonement, and all the naval officers groaned. "Unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable! To be behind schedule as much as we are, we need to begin boarding protocols immediately. Once all Reclaimers are aboard we will cleanse the Inner Dome and proceed to the Ark as planned. If it's a question of safety I can assure you nowhere is safer than here except for the Inner Dome itself, and once we are underway—"

Trying to keep patient, Avis nonetheless was growing frustrated. He needed to get everyone out _now, _and this little orb was not making things easy. "Well," Avis said, loud enough that he cut off 049 Futile Atonement's rambling, "we could just _borrow _them. The Admiral is of high importance on Earth, as are his staff. With these people it would a lot faster to initiate…boarding protocols."

049 Futile Atonement was taken aback. "Well…well I suppose if it would accelerate protocol…it is acceptable. Do you require transportation, Reclaimers?"  
_Well that was easy, _Avis thought. "Just an escort to the Inner Dome," he answered, using 049 Futile Atonement's title for the city. "We can manage from there."

"Very well," responded the AI, "please follow me." He bobbed out of the Control Room, humming to himself in between bouts of talking about protocol and systems that needed maintenance. The humans quickly followed, all anxious to be done with 049 Futile Atonement and his quirky Sentinels.

As they walked Admiral Harper told Avis what had happened to them over the last few days, and Avis told Admiral Harper a great deal about what had befallen First Platoon, leaving out a few details about Arawn. The AI, meanwhile, was absorbing all the facts Admiral Harper relayed with vigor, as if plugging them into some sort of data table. "Interesting," the AI would say at random points, "But if that's the case…oh I see…and that works into that…a slight recalculation, nothing more…"

Sounds of combat slowly grew louder the farther down the hallway they went, and everyone with weapons checked and double-checked they were ready to operate. Around the next corner a group of Flood were fighting several Brutes and Jackals. One combat form launched itself at the Covenant, colliding against a Jackal's arm-mounted shield and knocking both to the floor. The Brutes were using grenade launchers with a sharp blade at the end—what had been nicknamed Brute shots—and explosives were flying in all directions as the Flood moved nimbly around their grenades.

Since neither side of combatants were exactly on the humans' Christmas card lists, every assault rifle opened up in a powerful fusillade, the Sentinels contributing with their lasers. Before either side even knew what hit them, all were lying dead upon the floor. Avis gave each a 'dead check' just to be sure, putting two rounds in every head. He pushed one of the combat forms with the toe of his boot.

"Charming," he had time to say, before 049 Futile Atonement burned the body to cinders. "The Flood are notorious for reanimating their fallen," it said, cremating the other bodies as it continued to talk. "Containment protocol places high priority on reducing adaptable hosts to a less than adaptable condition." It sighed. "Alas, the Flood breeding process is insidious and elegant, and with so many new hosts containment is a priority. We must hurry." It floated away, moving faster than it had before.

A few minutes later they arrived at a wide grav lift, the first Avis had seen on the ship and big enough to hold all present. 049 Futile Atonement shot a burst of green energy into a slot and the lift activated, sending everyone up and then forward. When 049 Futile Atonement fired another burst into a slot identical to the one at the bottom of the lift, the lift deactivated and a thick slab of metal enclosed the small chamber they were in.

The room was hexagonal in shape, about twenty feet tall and a dull metallic gray color. They were standing with their backs against one wall, and 049 Futile Atonement flew over to its northeast counterpart, firing a beam in each of a series of triangular ports in a rapid sequence. It took only seconds, and when it was done a band that transected the room burst into light and a thick blue film appeared out of thin air, black undertones giving it a deep, mysterious look.

"This portal will take you straight into the Inner Dome, Reclaimers," 049 Futile Atonement said, drawing looks from just about everyone. "I apologize for the security, but it would be disastrous if the Flood were to gain access. The amount of purging that would require! I just shudder at the thought!"

Everyone looked at each other, thoroughly confused. "But the city is in the center of the ship," Avis said rationally. "Can't we just walk through a door and that would get us there?"

049 Futile Atonement turned and stared at Avis. "The Inner Dome is not _in _this construct, Reclaimer," the orb said. "Is this a test for my hardware recertification? The Inner Dome is actually a self-contained construct housed in one of the isolated sections of subspace caused by the compressions of the Polydimensional Effect."

"For once," Admiral Harper said, "could we get an AI to explain something _simply_? Is that _so _much to ask for?"

"I think I can answer," Arawn said, using the external speakers on Avis's helmet to talk to everyone at once. "Think of normal space as a piece of paper with points A and B on it: three-dimensional, simple, linear. Now imagine Slipspace as that piece of paper crumpled up, only with several more dimensions to it. Points A and B can be connected over a shorter distance, because they are closer together than they would be on the flat paper. However, because of the additional dimensions, rifts and valleys are formed in Slipspace, pockets and bubbles cut off and theoretically inaccessible. Unless," he added, "you knew where to look."

"Precisely," 049 Futile Atonement. "My makers correctly theorized that an object in one of these rifts would be protected from contamination via both normal space and subspace. So, to ensure the Flood would never penetrate the Inner Dome, they hid it in a subspace rift, and sealed all portals in a ship they believed the Flood would never gain access to: this one."

"You know what scares me?" Soda said. "I actually understood that."

"Alright," Admiral Harper said, taking command, "Physics class is over. The sooner we go through that thing, the sooner we get back to the UNSC. Staff Sergeant, you and your men first. Secure wherever this thing comes out."

"Yes sir," said Avis, and his platoon formed up behind him with practiced ease. "We could use some Sentinels," he told 049 Futile Atonement. "Added security."

"Of course," the AI replied. "However, I must remain here. It's just a matter of—"

"Protocol," Avis finished. "I think we get it. Thanks for the help. First Platoon…move out." MA5B shouldered, he took three long steps, the fourth walking right into the blue and inky blackness of the portal.

The transition was smooth, so smooth that if Avis had had his eyes closed he wouldn't have been able to tell he'd just walked through a portal. One second he was in the chamber with 049 Futile Atonement, the next tall spires were towering over him, and in the distance the chatter of assault rifles and whine of plasma could be heard.

With all the humans through Avis took out his datapad and scanned for the nearest IFF tags, implanted in all UNSC personnel. "Nearest UNSC forces are five miles west," Avis said. "Looks like we're going on foot from here. Your men up for a walk, sir?"  
"We may be Navy, but we don't always have to ride," the Admiral responded. As he did the air shimmered and five Elites materialized out of nowhere, holding plasma rifles and looking very menacing.

The marines had their rifles up in a flash. "Do not shoot!" the Elite with the golden armor said, and Avis had fought the Covenant long enough to know he was the one on charge—armor color was based on rank. "We did not come for your blood. Our fight is with the Brutes. I am Ship Master 'Romamee." The alien put down its plasma rifles and walked toward the group.

Suddenly the Sentinels attacked, spraying their beams on the Elites with determined ferocity, their targets' shields glowing from the impact. The Elites darted aside like Avis had seen them do a thousand times against him and his platoon, plasma rifles spitting retaliation back into the Sentinels' faces. The aliens were outnumbered, but their weapons were quick to destroy the Forerunner metal. It wasn't long before the last Sentinel hit the floor in a blaze of sparks.

When it was over the Elite named 'Romamee looked to see all the human rifles pointed at his team again. "I am sorry, but it was self-defense. I stand by what I said: we did not come for your blood." He looked at Avis and walked toward him, hand outstretched. That was no Covenant custom; the Elite was behaving _humanly._

No one did anything for a moment, the image of an Elite attempting to be peaceful with humans frozen in time for just an instant. Then Avis put his assault rifle on the ground and shook the Elite's hand. "So it's true, is it? The Elites and the Brutes are fighting?"

"Yes," the Elite said. "A Great Schism is upon us, human. The Prophets' lies no longer blind us as they once did. They are willing to risk the Flood spreading in order to accomplish their own ends. With your race near extinction the Elites are the only barricade left. Well, us and a few others," he pointed to a Grunt cowering a few meters away. "We came here to find an artifact to assist our efforts, and hopefully weaken the Brute resistance in the process."

A large explosion mushroomed into the air from a few miles away, and Avis recognized it as the destruction of an Albatross. The image drove home the thought that they couldn't waste time staying around here. "Look, you probably don't like me and to be honest I'm not a fan of yours either. But our goals are, for the moment, mutual. We help you find what you're looking for, you help us blow this place straight to hell. Deal?"

'Romamee's green eyes stared into Avis's brown ones, expression unreadable. "So it is, our races fight as one," he finally said. Avis nodded, picking up his assault rifle. "Feinst, take point. The rest of you, defensive square around the squids. Let's move." The men quickly entered formation, herding the naval officers like they were sheep.

The Elites spaced themselves out as well, one snapping its mandibles at Soda when he wouldn't stop staring and another brushing pushing past Swider like he wasn't even there. With 'Romamee and Avis side by side the group moved west, tall Forerunner buildings engulfing them in shadow.

_Scene Transition_

"You're sure about this?"

Arawn had been creating ArawnPro and ArawnCon for years, and he knew the same programming could be applied to bigger and grander projects than mere alternate personalities: apartments, houses, whole sports complexes filled with thousands of 'people' if he wanted. He had always liked to keep it simple though, because if he made it too complex he'd forget they were fighting a war out in reality, beyond his data housing. Not only that, but the larger the project, the more processing power it required, meaning he'd had to place limiting algorithms as a reminder to control himself. But now, with his life almost at an end—he could feel the virus edging ever closer to victory—he'd removed the algorithms and embarked on his most ambitious project ever.

He was standing in a lavish study, a perfect half-circle with a nearly fifty foot radius. Dark purple carpet covered the floor, and a luscious fire crackled in a gold-plated fireplace. The curved wall was completely lined with bookshelves save areas for the door and fireplace, though several shelves were devoted not to books but abstract figurines—some gold, some silver—that seemed to twist and turn in on themselves in never ending patterns. Out in the middle of the study were a dozen or so tables, all containing open books, data tables and scrolls.

The last piece of furniture was a large desk next to the straight wall, which was just a large window that looked out over a vast and prosperous city. Arawn was standing and leaning over that desk, gazing intently at the dark Bordeaux swishing around in its small crystal glass. His expression was unreadable, neither sad nor angry nor joyous. He searched his lexicon for the right word, and it came up under the category of _Little Used: _worried.

"Positive," answered a scrawny man with a slightly long neck and a goofy complexion. He wore a gray and black weather jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt. "The results speak for themselves, Arawn. I've checked them a hundred times. We screwed up."

Sighing, Arawn drained the Bordeaux in one final gulp. His spiked hair was slightly out of place, his dress shirt wrinkled, and his fancy black shoes scuffed. The dark circles under his eyes gave him a ghostly essence, and he felt himself tiring out. The man noticed his disheveled appearance and frowned worriedly. "You should sleep. Take a cycle to refresh."

"No time Joe," Arawn replied, still scanning the desk, though now that the wine was gone there was no reason to do so. "Like you said, we screwed up. I need to know where, so I can fix it, before it's too late. Show me."

Joe appeared reluctant, with a worried look in his eyes that didn't seem to want to go away, but he dismissed it with a heavy sigh and waved his hand. Three Forerunner symbols materialized in the center of the room, glowing with an unnatural light. "These are how we first found them, while on the _Chimera _project," Joe said. "There were several minor errors as well, but these are the ones that most affect us. The preliminary translations conducted while on the run were quite thorough for a cursory job, I must say as credit to you. However, due to the weakness of the signal, we misinterpreted the orientation of the symbols. When compared to the symbols found under the POW camp, they turn out to be _these_." Several components of the glyphs twisted seventy five degrees in all directions, making them completely different from what they were before.

Arawn walked around the desk and toward the symbols, so his face was almost touching them. "Is Earth still broadcasting?" he asked.

"Never stopped," Joe said. "Before you ask, I already copied the message and retranslated. Here are the results." The glyphs disappeared, only to be replaced by a holographic sheet covered with line after line of text. Arawn read through it with the speed of a computer, and when he was done he'd already isolated the differences.

The massive exhaustion fell over Arawn again, and he yawned widely. Joe flickered, Arawn's system struggling to keep such an advanced being in a constant avatar. "What about the _Chimera_?" Joe asked. "What's her status?"  
"En route," Arawn replied, slowly brushing a hand through the holographic paper and watching it become a billion individual particles before disappearing. "Now I'm wondering if adding her to the equation was such a good idea."

"Good idea? What else was there?" countered Joe. "You know what purpose she's going to play. In fact, I would argue this is what the _Chimera _was made for in the first place."

Turning, Arawn looked out the large window. It was dusk, and the sun was already below the prominent images of the skyscrapers. "You read my changes to the plan?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the dying sun.

"Just now. Very thorough, considering you figured out your mistakes about two minutes ago."

"And you consider the estimated human cost acceptable?"

"ArawnPro and ArawnCon have already discussed this with you. If you want I could call them up here—"

"No," Arawn said. He didn't have the strength to handle those two. "Just answer my question."

"If he was a civilian I'd say no. But this is the UNSC. I read his file, and I know you have too, a thousand times or more. He volunteered, Arawn, and wasn't a draftee. He knew what he was signing up for."

"And I thought you were supposed to be my conscience."

"Logic beats morality at the moment. Your way will work, given all the variables add up as you intend them to. If that requires some sacrifice…that's what it takes."

Arawn sighed again. "None of this was supposed to happen, Joe. I was trying to save as many as I could, not condemn them."

Joe didn't have to reply, because Arawn knew what he was going to say. He wasn't condemning many, just the one, and even that was speculative. Still, it was terrible irony that the only human at risk when the moment came was the one he happened to like.

He had either just saved Staff Sergeant Hughie…or sentenced him to death.


	9. The Battle of Construct Four

**The Ancients' Holy City**

**Beyond Earth's gravitational field**

**Ninth Age of Reclamation**

With a massive swing Callius brought his gravity hammer down on the Sentinel's metal casing, the massive impact causing the machine to explode into a thousand tiny pieces that flew for yards before falling to the ground. Something felt wrong in his right arm, and when he looked down he saw a big slab of razor sharp metal sticking out of one of his biceps. With a low growl of irritation he ripped it out of his arm and tossed it to the ground, only a minor sting reminding him he was injured at all.

Around him his pack was cleaning up the rest of the Sentinels, some using Brute shots and others using spikers—automatic pistols that shot superheated metal spikes at an alarming rate. Callius watched the last of the Sentinels fall, and with a quick grunt he ordered the others to keep an eye out for anymore trouble.

Even among his own kind Callius looked down at everyone; he was just over ten feet tall. His gray skin and rust-colored fur were protected by his Chieftain armor: powerful and decorative orange-red and black plates that provided the maximum amount of protection and maneuverability. Powerful muscles rippled under his skin, enough strength hidden within them to tear apart even a mighty Hunter. Combined they gave image to an individual who was cunning, powerful and brutal. Exactly what Callius was.

"Do you smell anymore of them?" he growled, sniffing the air himself. The beams the Sentinels used let off a distinct odor, something like ozone. Resultantly the last skirmish had contaminated the air, but millions of years of evolution had reformed the Brutes' noses into living machines that were able to sort it all out.

"No Chieftain," one of the Minors replied. "The area is clear for the moment."

"I want a Phantom here now," Callius ordered. "Noble Hierarch, you may come out." The Prophet of Sorrow emerged from one of the Forerunner buildings, anti-gravity throne allowing him to see eye to eye with Callius. The Prophet had insisted on coming into the city to find a way into the rumored control center, which would hopefully instruct them as to how to start the Great Journey. Of course, when the Sentinels had attacked, he had run and hid, leaving the real work to the Brutes.

"The Gods appreciate your effort, Callius," the Prophet of Sorrow said, brushing some dirt of his silken robe. "Unfortunately, complications have arisen that must be addressed." He pressed two buttons in the arm of his throne, and a small holographic image of Arius appeared.

"The Elites caught us off-guard, Noble Hierarch," he said. "Ambushed us like cowards in the dark. There are only three of us left, and the crystal has been stolen. We tracked them to near the east edge of the city before the humans attacked."

The message ended, and the Prophet looked up again, appearing somewhat solemn. Somewhere off in the distance the _hum_ of an approaching Phantom could be heard. "Take your pack and search for the Elites and the crystal. I have ordered Arius and the others to join you. I will continue on in the Phantom; find a way through the city into the ship. When you have killed the heretics, bring the crystal to me."

Callius kneeled humbly in accordance with Covenant custom. "Yes, Noble Prophet of Sorrow. We will tear the flesh from their bones."

The Prophet's eyes flashed with a disgusted look, but Callius did not notice. "You will be highly rewarded on the Great Journey; all your kind will. Just this one last step and the Path will become clear to us." The Phantom appeared over their heads and dipped down so it hovered about a meter above the ground. Sorrow moved under the dropship's grav lift. He looked back at the Chieftain. "You are our most treasured instrument. Fulfill your purpose."

Callius crossed his left arm over to his right shoulder, a sign of devout penitence. With that the Prophet was lifted into the Phantom, and the dropship lifted itself into a high orbit over the city.

"Let us go," Callius said to his pack. "The sooner we have the crystal, the sooner we feast on the meat of our enemies!"

With a roar of approval the pack departed, heading in the general direction of the city's central power core. They were far from the contested areas that the humans were still fighting for, but Sentinels and the chance of an airborne attack kept them at high alert. Callius took his natural place at the front of the pack, powerful leg muscles ready to propel him and his gravity hammer on top of any enemy within twenty feet, give or take.

All around, at least here, the city was deathly quiet, and it almost felt as if the ground was covered in a light mist. The tall Ancient buildings towered over them, and now that Callius could see them up close, he could see most were a convex pyramidal shape, and all were ornately decorated with large symbols. Shockingly, Callius saw many were similar to ones he had seen over the years while in the Covenant, and he wondered if there was some connection.

He banished such thoughts. If there was anything to be made from it, the Prophets would surely figure it out. His job was that of a warrior, not a historian or philosopher.

Closer and closer the pack edged to the central structure, and Callius could not help but be impressed by its vast size. No wonder the humans wanted to get here so badly. Surely this was a temple of some sort, waiting to be explored.

The wind changed, and Callius picked up a scent. The others did too, but it was too late. All at once a group of twenty Sentinels attacked. Lasers, grenades and spikes crisscrossed through the air as the combatants battled it out. The machines were learning; they stayed high up, where Callius's gravity hammer could not reach them, so the Chieftain pulled a massive fuel rod cannon from off his back and began firing it, large green radioactive bolts adding to the overall confusion.

In a kamikaze act, an injured Sentinel flew straight at Callius, and he was almost too late to catch it. It spun him around, and he accidentally pulled the fuel rod cannon's trigger. The green burst of energy exploded not five feet from him, sending him flying through the air. He knew he was done for, but the Gods saved him and he smashed through a window of one of the pyramidal building and rolled to a painful stop.

First checking for injuries, Callius realized immediately he was not wounded seriously, and he thanked the Forerunners for that. He was prepared to leap out of the window and attack the Sentinels when he noticed he was standing in a large circular room, and that he was one of the first to have entered one of the city's buildings. It was very plain, with the metal adorned with symbols making up the room, but a large staircase led out of the room, and Callius noticed a glowing blue light making its way down from the upper floor. With curiosity guiding him on, he followed it to the source.

He didn't have long to walk. The light was coming from a device on the next floor, two silver pyramids supporting a larger upside down pyramid. Callius recognized it immediately as a Luminary: a device the Covenant used to scan for Forerunner artifacts throughout the galaxy.

The Chieftain approached the Luminary cautiously, always keeping aware of his surroundings should this prove to be a Sentinel trap. The Luminary was glowing with activity, thousands of symbols identified throughout the city; it was impossible to tell exactly how many. Next to the Luminary was a control panel of some kind, and Callius looked at the intricate holographic panels, even touching a few experimentally.

After pressing one a hologram appeared, showing the human world Earth. Next to it several symbols appeared, which Callius could make little sense of. As far as he could tell, they said something about a signal, source and beacon, though that made no sense to him. He pressed a few more of the panels.

"Chieftain, are you still with us?" one of his pack asked over the COM. Callius jerked with surprise at the sudden noise. "Yes," he growled in response. "I am still in control. Have the machines been destroyed?"

"Yes Chieftain," the lesser Brute answered. "The Prophet of Sorrow recommends waiting at the power core for the Elites. He believes they will be drawn to its mystical properties. And if not them, then the stone. Arius and the others will join us shortly."

Callius gave the Luminary one last glance. "Begin defenses. I will be there shortly." He turned to leave the room, brushing his large paw over the holographic panel one more time.

Had Callius stayed another moment, he would've seen the Luminary go haywire, finally displaying a message reading: **Artifact CR-937122568-d detected. Initiating proper recovery & Flood containment protocols. Type-47 UHAP (a.k.a. 'Scarab') deployed. Please log accordingly.**

_Scene Transition_

Avis remembered a time from his childhood, back on Trafalgar III, one of the Outer Colonies long since glassed, when boys at his school would play King of the Hill on a small rise overlooking the gravball court. At some point three or four of the strongest boys had decided to band together and play as a team, knocking all opposition off like they weren't even there. Avis had tried to band the smaller kids together too, but they were repelled until an older kid—he must've been in fifth grade, he was so tall—volunteered to help. The boys did eventually manage to topple the strong boys and take the hill for their own, but all the while they'd never managed to completely trust the fifth grader, always working around him, not with him.

It was like that now. After more than two decades of bad blood, the marines and Elites were not going to be best buddies at the drop of a hat. In fact, once a Pelican had picked up the _Radcliffe_'s crew and a perimeter was no longer necessary, the two groups had stayed with their own, like there was an electric fence separating them.

The only two that were really making an effort were Avis and 'Romamee, and Avis figured they were probably doing it for the same reasons. They both, as leaders, had to set a good example, both respected the other's tenacity in combat, and both understood if they didn't get along, the Covenant would win.

"Thank you," Staff Sergeant Hughie said at one particularly awkward moment, "for deciding to help us."

"Our goals are one, human," 'Romamee replied. "We would be fools not to aid each other. Our races have not been friendly, but a new Age is upon us; I can feel it. Soon what was once conjecture shall be fact, and what was set in stone shall be shattered."

Avis noticed the Elites liked to talk in roundabout ways, adding as many similes and metaphors as possible. It was hard to understand at first, but then Avis realized something extraordinary: _We're the same way sometimes. _

"So, this alien we're looking for, has the stone which will…do what, exactly?"

"We are not sure," said 'Romamee. "Precedent tells us it is a powerful Forerunner artifact, capable of amazing feats, but this is not for certain. More important than using it, however, is making sure the Brutes _can't_ use it. That is our real goal in this venture."

"I see," Avis said, and was about to say more when he heard the sounds of battle coming from the west, and a Banshee flew over their heads. The Elites heard it too and growled, much to the displeasure of the marines, particularly Kip, who looked about two seconds away from needing a new pair of greens.

It was only a minute later that they came across the battle, a heavy firefight between the UNSC and the Covenant. The contested area was a large rectangular area about the size of a football stadium, which served as an arena for vehicular gladiators to slay each other. Warthogs and Ghosts maneuvered nimbly around each other's fire, and in the back Scorpions and Wraiths were exchanging fire. So far the only infantry that had joined the fight were snipers, but the battle was getting closer. It wouldn't be long before the foot soldiers were sent in to finish the fight.

Avis quickly found the man in charge, Colonel Dunwoody, who saw them coming and immediately had a smile on his dark face. "It's a nightmare, I tell you," he explained. "Outnumbered by a ridiculous margin…I tell you, Staff Sergeant, it's a street by street fight. The only thing keeping us in the game at all are those Hornets." Just as he spoke a squadron flew overhead, fired a volley of rockets at a packet of infantry, and swiftly moved. The troops exploded in a plume of fire, earning cheers from the marines.

"I don't understand," Avis said. "Why can't they get closer?"

Colonel Dunwoody activated a holographic map of the city. "The Covenant know the Hornets are a problem, and have set up a strict perimeter," he explained. "They've got special anti-air Wraiths—those are the really heavy bastards—all along the front. So far all attempts to take them out have been…failures."

The colonel handed Avis a pair of binoculars, and he suddenly saw it. The anti-air Wraith was a big golden-bronze machine of destruction, scanning the skies for a chance to pump out twenty rounds of its volatile armament—similar to what was in a fuel rod cannon, but bigger—a minute. If they were here in any significant number, any air sorties into the Covenant territory would be suicide.

"Looks like we've got a problem sir," Avis said simply. "I mean, to get close enough to one of those things, you'd have to be damn near invisib—" An idea struck him, and when he turned, 'Romamee and his Elites were already disappearing off into the battle, stealth camouflage slowly making them impossible to see.

A few minutes later, seemingly out of nowhere, the anti-air Wraith exploded in a belch of blue flame, shrapnel and fire careening into the sky. Like mosquitoes waiting for the repellent candle to die down the Hornets swept in, picking off infantry, Ghosts and regular Wraiths with ease. By the time the Elites returned a few minutes later, the area belonged to the UNSC.

Colonel Dunwoody, like all of First Platoon, was in awe at the ease with which the Elites had undertaken such a perilous task. "You have our thanks," the colonel told 'Romamee, shaking his hand as Avis had down what felt like a lifetime ago.

Nodding, 'Romamee examined the holographic map the colonel had activated. "You said there were more of them," he said, looking at the chart with the eye of a practiced tactician. "Where exactly are they? It would help to know of the Brutes' perimeter."

Dunwoody was so enthralled that the Elites were willing to help even more that he almost tripped over himself while manipulating the hologram. Several areas of the city suddenly highlighted themselves. "All of these," he answered. "Their defense looks like the crescent moon, see? They're using the wall of the dome to brace themselves. However, if you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting…er…" Avis noted the look of confusion on his face and guessed he had no idea what to address 'Romamee as. "Erm…yes, well, if I can guess what you're thinking, Lordship Tall Respectful Thingy…um…you would want to take out…these."

The number of highlighted areas dropped down to just a set of triplets, directly south of the power core. "Our analysis shows that if these were to fall, their entire perimeter would collapse. Naturally, each A.A. Wraith is heavily guarded, but I don't think that would be a problem for you, with your considerable…" he was having trouble finding the right word again, "…talents."

'Romamee looked at the map carefully for a long time before finally speaking. "No," he said. "If we were to go through and take those Wraiths out for you, we would lose the trail of the crystal. Indeed, we have lost too much time as it is. We must go, or the Engineer will be lost in the city forever, if the Brutes don't catch him, which they are quite good at."

"Now wait just a minute," Avis said, anger rising in spite of himself. "You have the capability to spare hundreds, maybe thousands of human lives, and you won't just so we can go play Treasure Hunt for your damn stupid rock?"

Turning to face him, 'Romamee split his lower mandible and growled deeply. "That 'rock,' human, can turn the tide of this war in your favor for the first time. I thought you wanted to help your race, not put them to the slaughter to temporarily spare a few!"

Avis stared defiantly into 'Romamee's eyes, but inside his heart was sinking. Was this shaky alliance over almost before it began?

"If I may, Ship Master," Arawn interrupted, "I believe destroying the Wraiths may be in everyone's interest. The Engineer would want to take the crystal to the most secure place possible, which at this point is that power core. We don't know where he is, Ship Master, but we know where he is going, and we can use that to our advantage."

'Romamee did nothing for a few moments, but turned to the Grunt that had been following obediently. "Wewaw, would the Engineer go to the power core like their construct says it would?"

The Grunt looked absolutely terrified that it was being asked to make such an important decision, but it nonetheless rose to the occasion and spoke. "Naturally Buoyant has only ever wanted to get the crystal away from the Brutes, as you have. I would agree that the safest place is by the power core, where he can hole up and hide."

Nodding, 'Romamee turned back to Avis and Colonel Dunwoody. "Very well, humans. How would you get us to these Wraiths?"

_Scene Transition_

Admiral Harper's fingers dug into the fibers of the fabric loop woven into the Pelican as the dropship slowed and inertia tugged at his tall form. With a small _thud _the Pelican's skids hit the landing pad, causing one last jolt before the admiral could let go and stare at the indentations the loop's material had dug into his fingers just below the second joint. They started to tingle and he shook them to get the blood flowing again. A moment later, when he stepped off the Pelican along with most of his senior staff, there was nothing more than a patch of skin slightly redder than the rest of his hand.

He was in one of the _Radcliffe_'s hangars, and he had never been so happy to be back on his own ship. It wasn't that he had been harshly treated aboard _Construct Four; _the worst was when the Sentinels had stunned and restrained him and his men. No, what Admiral Harper had really hated was the inability to do anything, to have lost his command to a seemingly senile alien AI. It stung with mockery to his post…and a commentary on how useless he was without a giant spaceship to toy around with.

A marine fireteam boarded the Pelican as soon as the last naval officer was off, at which point the dropship fed fuel to its engines, gunned the belly jets, and left to execute a high orbit around Earth. As it did the marines would scan every square inch for a single iota of Flood…and were prepared to detonate the dropship if there was any. Harper doubted the Pelican had been contaminated, but from what he had seen onboard the Forerunner ship, they were capable of getting into places no one thought possible. _Hell, _he thought. _It's only a matter of time before they hit the city itself. Then we're in _big _trouble._

Without looking back the admiral lead his crew through various hallways to the bridge, arriving to a number of cheers and applause, which he quickly cut short with a small wave of his hand. There was nothing to cheer about; they had done nothing heroic. Now those marines down in the Forerunner city…they were the ones who deserved applause. A standing ovation and a round of drinks for all, if Harper had his way.

"Alright people, back to work," Harper ordered, and his staff relieved the junior officers, who had been running the ship for nearly two days straight. "The rest of you get some rack time, because you're back up here in six hours."

That seemed harsh and the slew of Ensigns and Lieutenants knew it, but it would take some time to get the ship back on its normal shift rotation, because nearly everyone had been wide awake and working for over sixty hours. Harper could feel the exhaustion tugging at him too, multiplied exponentially by his age. But as the junior officers left the bridge he elected to keep going, to stay with his staff, at least for another six hours. After that, sleep would be fine by him.

"Batista keep us on the far side of the moon," Admiral Harper ordered. "Launch our Clarion spy drones to give us eyes and ears. Lieutenant Commander Clemons, warm up the MACs. If we need to, we're going to snipe the bastards, keep 'em off balance and buy those destroyers some time."

"Aye sir," both officers said in unison as they strapped themselves into their respective stations. A moment later three view screens came online as the feed from the Clarion spy drones came through, at the moment showing only the blackness of space and the silver-white crater-marked surface of the moon.

"Admiral," Holmes said, deciding not to show himself on the holopad, "I've made that fragment for you. It should be able to take care of all your needs while I'm away."

"You're sure you want to stay behind, Holmes?" Harper asked, wondering if he could actually order the AI to come back to the _Radcliffe. _Holmes had been created for the specific purpose of following orders and getting the job done, but AIs had a tendency to go off on their own whim if you hadn't earned their respect. Now, Harper was wondering if he had earned Holmes's.

"It's not a matter of disrespect or distrusting your leadership, Admiral," Holmes said, almost as if the AI knew what he was thinking. "But frankly…that little orb pissed me off, sir, and I want a chance to kick his ass. If you need anything my fragment can't provide, I can transmit myself back here in seconds. I just need to devote my runtime to this."

Admiral Harper nodded. Were he in Holmes's position, he would've torn 049 Futile Atonement a good one too. "Alright, just don't do anything stupid. You AIs are too damn expensive." Since Holmes couldn't see him, he let loose a small smile from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, sir," Holmes said, and Admiral Harper knew the AI was gone. For a moment he stared at the holopad, but then the Clarions cleared the crest of the moon and he turned toward them, devoting one last second to whispering, "Good luck."

The space around Earth was a crisscross of flame as the numerous Covenant ships fired massive volleys of plasma torpedoes in all directions, trying to hit the four UNSC destroyers. Jack had never seen such brilliant astrogation; even Captain Keyes would've been impressed by the spectacle. Each pilot was using their destroyer as if they were nimble space yachts: dive, spin, thrust and counterthrust, a gentle ballet where the consequences for a mistake resulted in death. Whenever a plasma blast got too close—like the one that was approaching the _Roo Nicolette—_the ship simply skimmed Earth's atmosphere, where the planet's magnetic field dispersed the plasma and left a fiery gash for the civilians below to point at and admire.

If only they knew.

Then something caught the admiral's eye, some sort of method to the destroyers' madness, and then he lost it. They were circling in wider and wider intervals, trusting they wouldn't need to use Earth's atmosphere as protection. There! Admiral Harper saw it now. The destroyers were orbiting the Covenant like electrons in an atom, using their MAC cannons to carefully maneuver the enemy into a penned up formation until—Admiral Harper keyed the ship-to-ship COM just in time to hear it—someone said: "Detonate now! Give 'em the HAVOKs!"

The Covenant ship 'nucleus' of the atom exploded explosively as several nuclear weapons detonated at once, a bright blue ball of energy that coalesced before pulsating outward, the UNSC destroyers listing from the EMP effect. When it was over the Covenant ships were little more than fragments and dust, save one carrier that was sitting crippled below the main focus of the blast.

"Holmes," Admiral Harper said, addressing the fragment the AI had left behind for minor tasks, "target that carrier with our Archer missiles and blow them away, before their shields come back online."

"Yes sir, Admiral Harping-on-me," the AI's fragment replied sarcastically. "Sending a bunch of firecrackers when we could just gut the damn thing. Right away."

Apparently Holmes hadn't copied over his ethics programming. This new version was a bit sassy for Admiral Harper's taste, without any regard for military protocol or just plain social decency. He hoped he wouldn't have to work with the fragment long; call him a boring man, but the admiral was too tired for much more sass.

Two dozen flares leapt away from the _Radcliffe _as the Archer missiles locked onto their target, detonating along the length of its hull so as to spread out the damage as much as possible. Though the missiles looked small compared to MAC shells, they packed a big punch, and the Covenant carrier slowly melted down into nothingness.

"Alright," Admiral Harper said to himself. "That was easy enough. Gave them a punch without revealing our position. Now all we have to do is hope those destroyers can reboot before—"

Too late. A purple void appeared in the sky, and ten more Covenant ships appeared, plasma turrets already glowing a deep red as they prepared to fire. Admiral Harper watched as the UNSC destroyers helplessly twisted about in the vacuum, and he knew it was hopeless. The _Radcliffe _barely had enough firepower to take out one of the smaller frigates. To think it could annoy ten long enough…Jack had made some tough decisions in his career, but watching those men die while he just stood there by far topped the list. The Covenant ships prepared to fire…

Several brilliant white flashes illuminated the Covenant ships, which were instantaneously ripped to pieces in a maddeningly fast crossfire. It took a moment, but Admiral Harper finally figured out it was coming from the orbital platforms, which had come online just long enough to shoot a volley before powering down again. Lord Hood was playing a smart game, counting on the Covenant's arrogance. But that wasn't going to last and everyone knew it.

Lieutenant Commander Clemons let loose a short whistle at the sight of the carnage. "I've never seen the Covenant ripped apart so quickly," she said. "Those orbital platforms are something else."

"Don't break out the champagne just yet, ell-see," Admiral Harper cautioned. "Now the Covenant have seen our maneuvers, and they know at least some of the orbital platforms are online. It won't be long before they show up with more ships than you can count, and all the orbital platforms in the galaxy won't stop them. No," Harper said, now whispering so only he could here, "what we need is a miracle."

The destroyers flared to life again and maneuvered back by Earth, arriving just as the next Covenant wave slipped in. It was a small wave, only five or six ships, but it would still be a tough fight. Jack knew Lord Hood wouldn't intervene and give away his position unless he absolutely had to.

"Time to introduce the Covenant to the UNSC _Radcliffe,_" Admiral Harper declared, hoping his bravado would inspire the men and women under him, despite the overwhelming odds. "Lieutenant Batista, move us away from the moon. Commander Thomas, give me firing solutions on the nearest…" he stopped, because it wasn't Commander Thomas in the NAV chair, but Ensign Gietry, the junior NAV officer.

The question was out of Jack's mouth before he realized he was talking. "Where's Commander Thomas?"

No one was able to answer him.

_Scene Transition_

Several Pelicans flew patrols over recently liberated areas of the Forerunner city, scanning for any signs of Covenant resistance the marines might have missed as they pushed through as fast as possible to the power core. The dropships flew over piles of rubble dozens of feet high, in between which the skeletons of Scorpion tanks, Ghosts, Banshees, Pelicans and Warthogs lay smoldering. The bodies were massed by the thousands, a rainbow of colors from the Covenant armor easily visible from the sky as they separated the marine green. Soon a battalion of Navy nurses and core men would scour the battle zone for any human wounded, collect the dead bodies…and burn the Covenant corpses to prevent spread of infection.

As soon as the Pelicans had disappeared a lone Phantom snuck out of a newly formed rubble cave and banked back toward the city's edges, away from the UNSC patrols. Onboard, the Prophet of Sorrow twisted impatiently in his throne, until he finally banged his weak fist down on the armrest. "Hurry, you fool!" he yelled at the Brute pilot. "The Great Journey waits for no one!"

The Brute grunted a hasty apology, and his compatriots lining the Phantom's walls bristled at the insult. The Prophet of Sorrow had no remorse for the savage creatures; the Elites had been right in that they were a vile race, but they were also pious enough to follow without question and violent enough to get the job done, which was what the Prophets needed at the moment. And after the Great Journey began…the Gods would deal with their viciousness.

"We're coming up on where we lost contact with the missing Phantoms," the pilot said. "If our assumptions are correct, the portal into the ship will be near." They were high up now, near the top of the dome, where overhangs hid secrets from eyes on the ground or even the tall spires of the buildings below.

Even before the humans had attacked several patrols had reported spotting a possible relic from the Ancients before disappearing from all sensors inside the city. The Prophet of Sorrow had been ready to apply some religious meaning to it when logic hit him. There had to be some way to connect the main city to the rest of the ship, and because a portal protected the city from space, it only made sense there were portals that protected the city from the ship. It was merely a matter of finding them.

"There," the Prophet said, pointing to one overhang in particular. "That's where we lost the signals, and I think I see…_yes_."

The overhang protected a cubby-like hole in the dome wall, where a small blue and black orb glowed with ominous power. It wasn't a large portal, only a few units in diameter, but it didn't have to be. They had found it, and that was all that mattered.

"Bring us in close," the Prophet of Sorrow ordered. "Drop us off, and go help your kin. We will find the ship's Control Room, and learn how to go to where the Great Journey shall begin."

The pilot nodded, moving the Phantom close enough that the Brutes were able to jump off and the Prophet of Sorrow floated down gently. As the dropship moved off the Brutes scanned the area, spikers and Brute shots ready to kill any Sentinels that would appear. When the area was confirmed as clear, the Prophet of Sorrow and his escorts walked through the portal, not so much apprehensive as they were anxious.

While the Prophet of Sorrow hadn't been expected a heavenly fanfare—that would come later—he'd expected a bit more than an empty room. It was well lit, with the Ancients' symbols providing enough illumination to see quite clearly, but all that was ahead of the group was a control panel, glowing blue-white by a large rectangular door.

The room was clear of Sentinels, so the Brutes and the Prophet of Sorrow moved forward. The lead Brute, a captain, was about to activate the panel when the Prophet stopped him. "This is a panel of Gods," he admonished. "And I will be the first to unleash its power."

Preparing himself, as if he about to make a sacrifice before the Altar on the spaceship/world _High Charity, _the Prophet of Sorrow pushed down on the panel with one hand. The calligraphy went wild, spinning and folding in on itself in various non-Euclidean ways. Finally the door opened, not slowly as most of the Ancients' doors were wont to do, but all at once, with a _shink._

Standing on the other side was an armada of Flood.

Without hesitation the Brutes opened fire, hot metal spikes and grenades flying through the air and blowing apart mutilated flesh and warped bone. The Flood were held back only for a moment, and then surged forward, sheer mass of their forces enough to overwhelm the Brute weaponry. The Prophet of Sorrow retreated behind his Guard, all religious sayings, decrees and cordiality out of his head. He was truly terrified.

The Brutes fell back orderly, millennia of military discipline keeping them calm and ordered as they attempted to slow the onslaught. The captain bellowed orders that shook the floor, and in one last heroic act leapt into the Flood army, staying alive just long enough to slam his fist on the control panel and watch the door fall with another _shink_ before the combat and infection forms dragged him to the ground and ripped him to shreds instead of turning him into one of them.

With the loss of their commanding officer, the Brutes still held off the Flood attack, albeit with a more panicked air than before. Slowly but surely they were picked off one by one as they either reloaded or we caught off guard, until only a pair of Minor Brutes and the Prophet of Sorrow were left, with their backs nearly to the portal. There weren't as many Flood now that they had been cut off from the main group. _Maybe we'll get out of this, _the Prophet of Sorrow thought optimistically. _Maybe the last of the parasite will be killed and we'll call a Phantom to seal this portal and find another. Surely if there was one, there will be more. Maybe—_

In a final push the Flood rushed the last two Brutes, blue helmets flying off their heads as the powerful combat forms swiped at them with disfigured arms. The two went down in a roar of pain, and the Prophet of Sorrow had time to see the infection forms start to bury in their chest cavities before they turned on him.

The Prophet moved his throne backward as fast as he could, but he might as well have been walking on his weak legs for all the good it did against the lightning-quick Flood. The lead combat form ran two steps forward before leaping straight at him, slamming into his chest. The hovering throne spun around uncontrollably, colliding with one of the walls of the room and knocking the crown of Sorrow's head. Still spinning, the two ricocheted off the wall…and back through the portal.

The last thing the Prophet of Sorrow ever felt was the combat form digging into his serpentine neck as he crashed into the hard Forerunner metal on the other side, the other Flood forms leaping to the overhang and joining the first around the dead Prophet's form.

After a hundred thousand years, the Flood had finally breached the Inner Dome.

_Scene Transition_

The plan was not going well.

Avis had known they'd been outnumbered fifty to one on the ground ever since they'd arrived, that the whole reason they were going after the anti-air Wraiths was to preserve the advantage the Pelicans and Hornets gave the UNSC. But the full realization of that hadn't hit him until First Platoon and the Elites had landed, accompanied by two companies of marines, the First and Sixth.

"Fire!" Avis yelled, spraying bullets at nothing in particular as he shot around the corner of one of the massive Forerunner buildings. All around him First Platoon joined his fusillade, knocking Grunts off their feet and causing Jackals to hide behind their energy shields. The Brutes, however, stood their ground, powerful armor barely dented by the armor-piercing rounds. Grenades from Brute shots flew down the street both sides were fighting over, and Avis saw one marine—not one of his men—get blown apart at the chest and fall into a pile of his own innards.

The anti-air Wraith had a commanding field of fire as it sat on a rise several hundred meters away. The perimeter the Covenant had set up was as effective a defense as Avis had ever seen; there was no way any UNSC aircraft were getting close to it. Literally hundreds of Grunts and Jackals guarded the streets that led to the rise, commanded by dozens of Brutes. When they had first touched down a wall of plasma had come flying at them, only quick leaps into side alleys saving them. They had made progress, but it was painfully slow, and the Brutes were the most tenacious fighters Avis had ever seen. He'd watched them fall only after two clips from his assault rifle had punctured its chest, _after _the armor had been destroyed.

Avis spun to the side as a grenade from a Brute shot flew by his face, impacting one wall of the alley he was holed up in. For moment he was distracted by the fact that the grenade seemed to have made no mark on the Forerunner metal, but the panicked chatter coming in over the COM brought him back from his observation.

"Damn it, this isn't working," Major Ramsden, commander of First Company, said. "We'll run out of ammo before we're halfway there. If you Elites have any ideas, now would be the time to share."

Two engineers had given 'Romamee and his group UNSC COM sets to communicate on the field. "There is no option but a frontal assault," 'Romamee said. "They have every advantage: firepower, equipment, command position. Our stealth technology is of no use when there is no way we can slip around their lines. Tenacity is our only strategy here."

"And these guys were going to make us go extinct," Ramsden commented scornfully. "Frickin' brilliant, you Elites are. We don't have the _supplies _for a frontal assault, you understand, Split-lip? And Lord Hood is not going to give us anything else, not with Earth to defend."

"You insolent demon," snarled 'Romamee. "I should rip your—"

"Enough!" Avis yelled, only after realizing he'd just ordered a Major to be quiet. "This is no time for bickering. Soda, are your snipers in position?"

"Yes Staff Sergeant," the young marine had been given command of the two companies' snipers and had been spreading out, taking down their Covenant opposites. "And the last of the Jackal snipers are down."

Still breathing heavily from dodging that grenade, Avis spotted one the marines hiding in the alley with him, more specifically the Jackhammer rocket launcher he was holding with all his might. "Good. Focus on the Brutes. Head-shots. Knock the brains out of those bastards." He switched frequencies to address everyone in the vicinity. "Everyone with rocket launchers, hit the stationary guns first, then the Brutes that the snipers don't cover. Infantry, get ready to run. The second that smoke rises I want to hear the pounding of a hundred boots running forward ringing in my ears. Copy?"

Acknowledgments came in over the COM, and already the sharp _cracks _of sniper rifles could be heard, and the Brutes that had been so brave moments before suddenly started ducking for cover.

Avis yanked the launcher from the cowering marine's hands, shouldering it and sneaking out of cover to sight one of the stationary guns. Known as "Shades," the guns fired plasma quickly enough to eat through the marines' ballistic armor like it was rice paper. They were manned by Grunts and only firing bursts at the moment, but collectively they would make for a serious hazard unless dealt with.

"Rockets ready….fire!" Avis ordered, pausing only long enough to steady his aim before pulling the trigger. The 102mm rocket jumped from the tube with a sonic _fwoomph, _contrail mimicking its path through the sky. Behind him twenty more soared through the air, some so close as to tousle his flak jacket.

The Shades barely had time to realize what hit them. Within seconds they were all destroyed, some taking the pounding of multiple hits. Plumes of thick smoke spilled into the air, and Avis was pleased to see the splash damage had knocked plenty of infantry out of the fight.

"Volley round two and move!" Avis said, emptying the launcher's second round into a crowd of Brutes that had huddled too closely together. After the rockets flew by he sprinted forward, a hundred marines following behind, bullets tearing through the smoke and at the stunned Covenant forces.

In credit to them, the Brutes recovered quickly. Avis had only advanced two blocks before he was forced to hide again. To his horror he saw Barth and Swider had been caught out in the open, and a volley of grenades impacted into them. Barth had taken the worst of it, and was clearly dead, but Swider was still alive, crawling for an alley and leaving a trail of blood behind him. A pair of incendiary grenades landed near him, and sweat poured down his face.

"Soda, I'm at blue smoke. Cover me!" Avis ordered, tossing a canister onto the ground, which immediately let loose an enormous amount of charcoal gray-blue smoke. Avis ran, and heard sniper shots as Soda protected him from enemy fire. When he reached Swider he grabbed his friend by the collar and dragged him into the nearest alley and out of harm's way.

The man's legs had taken the worst of it; large chunks were missing from the thighs and calves. Avis grabbed a canister of biofoam from his bandolier and sealed the wounds, but he knew Swider was about to go into shock. Hopefully this would hold him until he could be medivacked to the base hospitals, or even the Fleet surgeons on Earth. Then he'd have a real shot.

"Is it bad, sir?" Swider asked, pale as a ghost and barely hearable over the roar of combat. There was a fear in his eyes Avis wasn't used to, and he had to concentrate to remain stoic. "It's fixable. Those surgeons will have to remove some of the carbonized bone, though. You'll lose about four inches."

The tall marine laughed, smiling weakly. "I've got plenty of it to give sir," he whispered, and then slipped into unconsciousness. Avis ordered the marines nearby to call for medivac, and then he left. There was still a battle to be fought, and still men to save. _Swider will make it, _he told himself. _He _has _to._

Even in his head he knew that was a load of crap. No one _had _to live.

The surprise volley of rockets had cost the Covenant dearly. Though the Brutes had regained control, many Grunts and Jackals were running around, half confused and half scared. Many Grunts had decided to go out with a bang, running at the marines with an armed plasma grenade in each hand. They were easily killed, of course, and did more harm than good, because they often died close enough to their cohorts that the grenades ended up killing _them _instead.

"Kamikaze Grunts," Arawn remarked, breaking his silence. "That's new."

"Better them than us," Avis grunted back, firing a trio of rounds into a Jackal's neck, causing it to fall to the ground, dead. "Feinst, I think we're in range. If you have a shot, take it. This needs to end now."

No reply came over the COM, but a rocket shot past Avis's head and toward the anti-air Wraith. It was extreme range for a rocket, and the A.A. Wraith began to avoid it, but the shell caught one of the stabilization fins and exploded, tossing shrapnel into the air. It shuddered violently, spewing smoke, and all at once exploded with a low belch. The marines cheered, and almost immediately Hornets and Pelicans swooped in and began to destroy what was left of the Covenant protection force.

"Good work, Staff Sergeant," Colonel Dunwoody's voice crackled over the COM. Avis strapped himself into the exposed starboard landing skid of the Hornet closest to him. "That hole allowed us to launch an airstrike on the second A.A. Wraith, and it's down. Just one more to go."

"Can't you just launch an airstrike against it now that you have such a big hole in the defenses?" Avis asked, dreading the colonel's answer. Because that was the obvious choice, he had to assume the colonel had thought of it and rejected it for some reason. Avis had a feeling that reason was going to cost a lot of marine lives.

"The place is too hot," Dunwoody replied. "You'll see when you get there. Good luck, Staff Sergeant." The COM clicked off.

Avis did indeed see it within minutes of take-off; it was damn near impossible to miss. The Covenant had pulled out all the stops to protect this A.A. Wraith: more than a thousand troops surrounded it from all directions. Banshees circled the skies, Ghosts patrolled beyond the infantry lines, and three regular Wraiths completed the defenses, creating an impenetrable circle of armor. Several gasps came in over the COM, and Avis didn't blame them; this was suicide.

"I just got a channel to General Kaffee; he's sending a few Scorpions our way," Major Ramsden shouted over the Hornet's engines, which blasted just feet away from Avis's ears; the heat made him sweat so much his uniform was soaked. "ETA twenty-five minutes."

Half an hour by themselves against all that armor; it might as well have been a year. The vehicular threat alone would be enough to pin the marines down. Add the infantry and they would slowly be picked off, one by one.

Sniper shots brought Avis back to reality; Soda and his snipers were taking out the drivers of the Ghosts and gunners of the Wraiths first. The Banshees opened fire, globules of plasma spitting past the gunmetal-green airframes. The Pelicans kept them at bay for now, but Avis knew staying up here was no good, and ordered the pilots to drop off the men.

A wall of plasma grenades flew through the air as they jumped off the Hornets, blue orbs arching over the ground and appearing almost like a solar flare. Avis leapt out of the way, as did the other men, but several found their mark. Cringing as the men screamed, Avis ducked as two grenades blew up a Hornet that was too slow and sent it crashing down the alley he was hiding in, missing his head by centimeters.

Looking up, Avis saw 'Romamee next to him, holding out a four-fingered hand. Avis took it and the Elite helped him to his feet, even handing him his assault rifle. "Thanks," he said. The Elite merely nodded. "Do you have any more ideas for this one?" Avis asked. He peeked around the corner and nearly got his nose burnt off. "It's a tough nut to crack."

"Do _you_ have any more rockets?" 'Romamee asked, and Avis realized the alien was joking. "You're alright, 'Romamee," he said, half-smiling. "But that still doesn't answer my ques—"

It was as if the whole world had suddenly gone silent. Avis saw a hole in the dome roof, small at first but growing as it twisted away from itself. Suddenly Avis realized the world _had _gone quiet; everyone had stopped firing to watch this strange new Forerunner phenomenon.

Out of the hole something crawled across the Dome's ceiling. It looked like a spider, but its movements were too slow, too deliberate. Suddenly it fell, correcting itself, and when Avis saw the thrusters on its belly control its decent, he realized what it was, and that chilled him to the core.

The Scarab hit the ground between the UNSC forces and the Covenant, but it was unlike any Scarab Avis had seen. It was twice as large and not nearly as colorful as its Covenant counterparts; it was made up of the same gray material as the Forerunner buildings that surrounded it. It turned its four giant legs to face the Covenant troops, and judging by the looks on the faces of the Brutes, they were as surprised to see it as the UNSC was.

The single 'eye' at the front of the Scarab began to charge, and Avis knew what it was going to do even before he realized he knew. Pinpricks of light appeared at the tip of the eye, and a loud whine echoed around the city. It all culminated in a powerful pulse of bright blue energy, one long beam that ripped right into the Covenant army. Nothing was left but a deep gash in the forces, and Avis saw that the anti-air Wraiths, three regular Wraiths, and a significant number of Ghosts, Shades and infantry had been vaporized.

Suddenly several large explosions appeared at the Scarab's legs, and Avis turned to see the Scorpion tanks General Kaffee had promised rolling up the street, firing on the Forerunner creation. It began to turn, and only when Avis yelled into the COM did the tanks stop firing. "Cease fire, cease fire! It's UNSC friendly, repeat: friendly!"

Too late. The Scarab turned, eye glowing as it charged up a second shot, and Avis only had time to close his eyes before the blast shot over his head. When he turned to look, the Scorpions had met the same fate as the Covenant forces: smoldering wrecks decorated with carbonized bone.

Dozens of Hornets and Pelicans flew over the wreckage of the Covenant forces, beginning strafing runs on the infantry that had until a moment ago been protected. Avis called one over via the COM, and he signaled Soda to accompany him. "Land on top of that thing," he told the pilot. "We're going to check it out."  
The pilot nodded, and just as it took off 'Romamee jumped onboard, the Grunt that had been tagging along struggling to get up on the skid. When it turned Avis noticed its armor was cracked and a plasma bolt had burned its left leg. Whatever Avis thought about their species as a whole, this Grunt wasn't a coward. He'd been fighting with the rest of them.

A moment later all four jumped off into the top of the Scarab, Avis and Soda leveling their rifles, 'Romamee and the Grunt holding the claw-shaped plasma pistols. They walked down the top of the massive machine, which sloped until the landing just above the eye, and once they arrived at that point there was nowhere to go but into its bowels, which Avis did only after activating the flashlight under his rifle.

For a complex machine, there was not much to see in its depths. The chamber they entered was oval-shaped and extended the length of the Scarab. It was completely empty, but Forerunner symbols lined the walls, and Avis had a feeling this was the basis for most Forerunner architecture.

A soft glow emanated from behind them, and Avis cautiously walked toward it, finger always on the assault rifle's trigger. When he reached the corner of the wall he paused for a moment, and then spun violently around, pointing his rifle at whatever it was….though he quickly checked himself.

" 'Romamee," Avis said over the COM, "I found your pal."

Sure enough, the Engineer was just inches from the barrel of the rifle, floating happily as it broke down and reassembled several Brute shots and UNSC shotguns. When the Grunt came around the corner it gurgled cheerfully and waved the tentacle holding the crystal wildly, almost as if it had just solved all the mysteries of life.

"Hook me up somewhere," Arawn said. "I think I can scramble the attack programming to deter it from UNSC forces."

"Think?"

"The Forerunner systems are not as pliable as their Covenant counterparts," snapped Arawn. "Sorry, Avis. These routines are…tricky." The COM clicked off.

Grimacing, Avis connected Arawn's processor-matrix tube to a hexagonal port on the Scarab's wall, and the lights inside came to life. A moment later the Scarab turned around and began toward the center of the city, firing at any Covenant troops in the way.

"Done," said Arawn. "The Scarab is now programmed to remove all resistance impeding its progress to the power core. Oddly enough, the machine's original programming was Flood control."

There was no time to think about that loose end. "Get Colonel Dunwoody to assign guards posted here to repel any saboteurs," Avis ordered. He made eye contact with the Engineer, and his blood chilled. "And to guard the Engineer and its crystal. This is our last great push. When we hit that power core, it's over. Make sure the demolitions team is standing by."

Feinst's voice suddenly crackled over the COM. "Sir, we've got serious activity out here. Just walk up to the top of the Scarab and you'll see what I'm talking about."

Curious, Avis left the chamber and went back to the Scarab's prow, where the city stretched out around him. Everything seemed normal…if by 'normal' he meant hazardous and in combat. "What am I looking at Feinst?" Avis asked, eyes darting about for any sign of something odd.

"Sir, look outside."

Avis turned to face the blue film that everyone had entered through, which he now knew was a portal connecting the space around Earth to the Forerunner city. The solid metal gate was closing, slowly retreating back down into the seals that had held it for so long before. "What's happening?" Avis asked no one in particular. "Arawn, stop that thing!"

"I can't," the AI replied. "I'm not connected to that network, and even if I was…that Forerunner AI would be too powerful for me. I can't do anything." Avis knew it took all of Arawn's courage to say those words, to acknowledge how ineffective he had become. All he could do was watch with the rest of them.

The gate finished closing and the seals shut, effectively trapping Avis and everyone else inside the Forerunner city, with only the Covenant for company.

"What happened?" Soda asked. "Why is the ship cutting us off?"

It clicked in Avis's head, and it was like being shot in the chest. "Quarantine," he said, and turned to look to the east, where a light brown haze was slowly rising over the horizon of the skyscrapers, like a dark cloud at the beginning of a storm. "General Kaffee, we have a problem," he said over the COM.

"I see it from here," the general replied. "Recon indicates they're moving to you and moving there fast, and Sentinels are on the way to intercept. What do you want to do about it Staff Sergeant?"

Avis only had a few seconds to decide. It was a big city, with a lot of ground to cover. The odds were that by the time the Flood were a significant threat, especially with the Sentinels slowing them down and the Scarab accelerating the UNSC assault, they could be out of there. But that was assuming they could figure out how to escape the city now that the gate was secure, and the Flood had a habit of defying the odds…

Staff Sergeant Hughie slammed a new clip into his assault rifle. "There's only one thing _to _do about it," he told the general. "Contain it."

_Scene Transition_

_Construct Four_'s control room was dark and stuffy when Commander Thomas opened the large door and entered, M6G pistol up and ready to shoot at any Flood that might choose that moment to attack. The only light came from the three large pale-blue holograms, flickering and casting weak reflections off the strong glass that made up the walkway and extended over the deep chasm below. But Jayson had eyes for only one thing: the holographic panel in front of the holograms. Holmes was in there, doing who knows what inside the alien system. No matter what Holmes was up to, however, 049 Futile Atonement intended to destroy Earth, and Commander Thomas was going to figure out how to stop it.

As soon as he entered the room it lit to a comfortable level, and the door closed behind him. It did so in a very jerky way, eventually grinding to a halt about three feet from the bottom. Jayson looked at it equivocally, then lowered the pistol so he held it by his side and walked toward the panel, wondering if the little bastard had followed.

"So to answer your question, Reclaimer," said 049 Futile Atonement, floating down in front of Jayson as he walked, "the propulsion consists of several drives powered by the core of the Inner Dome. The technology of interdimensional power is a relatively simple principle, if you'd like to see the relevant data?"

Jayson arrived at the panel, light reflecting off of his face as he stood over it. Ignoring the AI's question, he asked, "And everything is controlled from here?"

"More or less. There are substations throughout the construct that can take responsibility of individual systems, but only here can all systems be activated simultaneously."

"Could've just said yes," Jayson muttered under his breath, staring at the controls. He was about to ask how to view different areas of the city when his brain nudged him over to one control in particular, a holographic knob on the left side of the control panel, and the question died in his throat. He didn't know where this alien instinct was coming from, but he trusted it implicitly. He grabbed the knob—surprised at how solid it felt—and pushed it in.

The large hologram of the city twisted into an overview, as if he was looking at it from space. Urged on by another instinct, Jayson twisted the knob, and the view rotated to match. The inner part of the knob rolled forward and backward, and controlled whether Jayson saw everything from above or at street level.

"Impressive," said Commander Thomas, in spite of himself. "Now navigation…how does that work?"

"Default navigation for this facility has always been connected to passive and active scans of this dimension and subspace," 049 Futile Atonement said matter-of-factly. "However, due to signal loss brought about by Flood contamination, our systems have forced an override on a search grid spanning a radius of two to the fourth light years—"

"I get it; you're not using autopilot," Jayson said, wondering how many more vague rants he'd have to listen to before he could go back to the _Radcliffe. _Then something caught his eye on the holographic map, and without thinking he touched that area of the city to increase magnification and angled the map so he was looking at everything from a few feet above street level, working as fluidly as if he'd been using the controls for years.

"How did a Scarab get in here?" he asked himself as he saw the behemoth march into battle, but a more important question suddenly came to mind. "Are there any weapons in the city we can activate?"

"Unfortunately no. My makers wisely anticipated the possibility of hostilities when so many people are kept in an enclosed space for a long period of time, and sought to prevent any temptation of violence. Should such a situation erupt, Sentinels would be deployed strictly for police action."

Jayson watched the Scarab—which he could now tell was UNSC controlled—make short work of the Covenant forces, and allowed himself a little smile. "Too bad," he said. "Another one of those suckers and we'd have this battle bought and pair fo—"

The entire hologram suddenly went from a cool blue to a sharp red, klaxons blaring as the image of the Scarab froze, as if the system was crashing. A moment later the control panel flashed red too and the hologram of the Scarab disappeared, in its place a moving image of Flood combat and infection forms moving among the Forerunner buildings.

"Contamination!" screamed 049 Futile Atonement. "A breach of the Inner Dome! Unacceptable! Absolutely _unacceptable!_" The orb in the center of its casing, normally an emerald green, began to turn a deep orange-red. "For 101,217 point eight standard years I have been Monitor of this facility," the AI said, its voice becoming more and more robotic. Sentinels appeared from above and began circling 049 Futile Atonement. "Chosen by my makers to leave my installation and undertake this honor, and in all that time I have followed protocol to the letter. Now, when mission completion is within sight, there has been a Flood outbreak regardless? No! My makers would not accept that result and neither shall I. Overriding protocol obligation algorithms…complete. Beginning revised containment procedures. Preparing to fire the main cannon. Target: Earth."

There was a loud _bang, _and the hologram changed to show the large gate bridging the city and outer space closing, trapping the UNSC and Covenant forces inside the Inner Dome. One unfortunate Phantom did not turn sharply enough and exploded against the alien metal in a blue fireball. "Wait!" Jayson yelled. Everything was happening so fast…but he knew he had to do something, or Earth was doomed. "What about the others? On Earth?"

"Unfortunate losses," 049 Futile Atonement replied. "Considering the number of Reclaimers currently onboard this facility, I have calculated a sufficient reproduction scenario that will ensure a healthy population growth of one point two percent per quarter return…"

While 049 Futile Atonement talked a million thoughts raced through Jayson's mind. The little AI was obviously going rampant, and was hell-bent on destroying Earth. Those Sentinels made any sabotage attempt risky, if not impossible. The only weapon he had was a pistol, which was about as useful as a slingshot at the moment. Then a plan entered the Commander's mind, and he thought it through. All he needed was a suitable distraction…

"…but I will answer logistical questions in a moment, Reclaimer," 049 Futile Atonement finished. "Initiating firing sequence now." Several loud _thump_s reverberated through the Control Room, the walkway extending out in two directions until they connected again, forming a large hollow circle, maybe a hundred and fifty feet wide. Commander Thomas had no idea what was going on until Holmes yelled from the control panel, "The chasm! Look in the chasm!"

Down below a bright blue ring was warming to life, glowing brighter and brighter until even from where Jayson was standing it hurt to look at it. Then the ring's unlit inner section split at the center into seven individual sections, each sliding back independently to reveal a pure white core. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and a roar—soft at first, but within seconds had become deafening—filled the void, so Jayson had to yell when he told to Holmes, "If you have a plan, I suggest you use it!"

The roaring stopped, the air came back into the room. The _thrums_ whined down and the outer ring in the chasm flickered. 049 Futile Atonement's featureless face pulled off a look of surprise. "Well that's not supposed to happen," it said.

"No shit, Sherlock," Holmes said, avatar appearing over the control panel and reaching a height of at least twenty feet. A stern, angry look was on his face, but there was also a small satisfactory smile on the edge of his lips.

"You again!" 049 Futile Atonement exclaimed. "But how could such a primitive construct be responsible for such a malfunction?"

"Oh it wasn't me," Holmes said, lighting his pipe and sticking the tip in his mouth. A box appeared in his free hand, which he flicked open with his thumb. "I just let an old friend of yours do the work for me." A loud, high voice, almost like a hiss, echoed through the room. "_FREE!" _The three holograms crackled and sizzled with blue electricity.

049 Futile Atonement and its Sentinels surrounded Holmes's avatar. "Releasing a damaged construct into this system can cause catastrophic failure," the AI said. "Do you know what you have done?"

Holmes stared defiantly into 049 Futile Atonement's glowing green orb. "More than you do. It's only in the weapons system at the moment, but that can and will change if I want it to. So back off."

Out of nowhere a bullet pinged off of 049 Futile Atonement's casing, and all present turned to see a wall of Flood running down the walkway at them, even more squeezing in through the gap in the door. Instantly the Sentinels were firing on them, but the onslaught was so heavy that several combat forms fell just inches from Jayson's feet. Slowly the Flood were pushed back down the walkway, but more and more kept coming. When they were a safe distance away 049 Futile Atonement turned his attention back to Holmes, and Jayson thought he saw his chance coming.

"I'm afraid I made a mistake in not disabling the corrupt construct immediately," the orb said. "I admit, the concept of the first Flood-controlled AI since the Firings greatly intrigued me. But no longer. My actions, and yours, shall be atoned for, starting with your purge." 049 Futile Atonement floated next to the control panel, and from his orb came white, sizzling electricity that culminated in a sphere, causing Holmes to cringe and clutch his head, the pipe falling from his mouth.

Seizing the opportunity, Jayson grabbed 049 Futile Atonement by a groove at the top of its casing, yanking it away and causing the sphere to dissipate. He punched the alien AI right in its green orb for good measure, and then looked at the panel. As soon as he thought about what he wanted to do his instincts told him what to press, and he did it with an open palm.

_Construct Four _swung around in space and sped away from Earth, turning so the ship's main weapon couldn't fire at the planet. When it finally slowed Jayson pushed one last control symbol, and the panel sparked and went out, permanently damaged.

"Why, Reclaimer?" 049 Futile Atonement asked feebly from in his hand. "Why do you work against all your forefathers strove to protect?"

Commander Thomas looked into the AI's mechanical eye for the last time, which appeared a little dimmer than he remembered. "Because," he said, trying to use a term 049 Futile Atonement would understand, "protecting Earth is _my _protocol."

Without another word he pulled his arm back and threw the AI over the dead control panel and through the hologram of the city. "Now!" Jayson ordered Holmes, and the blue ring in the chasm flared to life, a solid cylinder of energy flaring out of the core, using the ring the walkway had formed as a guide. 049 Futile Atonement was engulfed and reduced to nothing. The wind from the blast stung Jayson's eyes, as did the powerful light, but within seconds it was over and the Forerunner AI was gone.

"The core is failing," Holmes said urgently. Cracks appeared in the ceiling high above. "That blast damaged it. The Control Room is falling apart. You need to go, _right now._"

Jayson nodded, but as he did something unbelievably hot struck his back and he fell to the ground, blisters popping into existence down his spine. Crying out, he turned onto his back—which hurt like hell—and saw two Sentinels abandon their fight with the Flood to go after the one responsible for killing their leader. Firing again, the beams struck him on his stomach, chest and legs. He roared in agony, feeling around for anything he could use, and grabbed at his last hope: a plasma rifle one of the dead Flood had been carrying.

With darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision Jayson fired, whine of the weapon inaudible over the now constant explosions knocking chunks off the Control Room's walls and into the chasm below. The plasma cut through the Sentinels easily, melting chunks of the Forerunner metal and causing key attachments to fall apart. When the remaining machines came to the fight, Commander Thomas destroyed them as well.

Gasping with relief, Jayson felt the overheated plasma rifle fall from his hand, the dark edges in his eyes growing more and more defined. Burns covered his body, but he was ironically cold, and nearly pain-free. He looked up and saw the remaining Flood coming down the walkway toward him, and he knew he didn't have the strength or the firepower to fight them off.

"Holmes," he whispered, because it was all he could do, "I don't…I don't want to become one of those…things." As he spoke he coughed up blood, staining what was left of his beige uniform and covering the Commander bars and campaign ribbons on his chest. He could barely detect the copper taste, and that's when he really knew how hurt he was.

The AI stared sympathetically down at him. "Then you know what to do," he said. "You just eliminated this ship's threat to Earth; saved hundreds of millions of lives. I think you deserve it."

The Flood were getting closer. Jayson struggled to raise his pistol and sink his last bullet into the lead combat form's chest, watching it fall. "Can…can I ask you a favor?" he coughed.

"As long as it's quick." The Control Room shook violently, and the crest of the ceiling fell into twenty or so large boulders that fell to the chasm, which had become sealed again once the weapon had been fired.

"Show me the stars." Jayson coughed again, the most violent spell yet, and when he was done a hologram of the galaxy was illuminated before him, the twinkle of the stars contrasting against the blackness of space. Jayson stared at it intently, as if he was looking for something, before closing his eyes. "Thank…" he coughed again, "...thank you," Commander Thomas finished. He smiled. "I'd forgotten how small we are."

Holmes nodded, pretending to understand. "God bless, Commander."

With the Flood just feet away, Jayson laughed as best he could. "Don't bet on it."

Using the last of his strength, Jayson swung himself over the edge of the walkway, just missing the combat form that had tried to leap on top of him. Cold air flew through his hair and he finally let the darkness consume him, pretending he was in one of the damp caverns he'd played in during his childhood. The Control Room exploded into fragments all around him, consuming the Flood before they had a chance to give chase. Jayson managed a final smile, the stars in his head twinkling behind his eyelids as he swam through space one last time.

Lost in tranquility, he didn't feel a thing when he hit the bottom.


End file.
